THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


LOVE  OR  FAME; 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 

FANNIE  ISABELLE  SHERRICK. 


'Fame  is  the  thirst  of  youth." 

— Byron. 

'Love's  holy  flame  forever  burneth ; 
From  heaven  it  came,  to  heaven  returneth." 

— So  ut  hey, 

'  Tis  hard  to  say,  if  greater  want  of  skill 
Appear  in  writing  or  in  judging  ill. 

— Pope. 


ST.  LOUIS: 

w.  s.  BRYAN,  PUBLISHER, 

1880. 


Copyrighted,  1879.  by  FANNIE  ISABELLE  SHERRICK. 


JACKS  &  Co.,  PRINTERS. 


TO 

MY      MOTHER, 

THESE  POEMS 
ARE 

AFFECTIONATELY   DEDICATED. 


759466 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

PAGE. 

GIRLHOOD,       - 

PART  II. 

PART    III. 

FAME,         

-    27-45. 

PART    IV. 

BROKEN  LINKS,      

-     -    46-56. 

PART    V. 

LOVE,          

-     -    57-71. 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS,    - 

72. 

To  LONGFELLOW,      

72. 

TOWER  GROVE,          ----- 

-        -           74- 

A  SHELL,   

77- 

Two  PICTURES,         

79- 

THE  QUEEN-ROSE  —  A  SUMMER  IDYL, 

81. 

TWIN  LILIES,     

-        -           83. 

MEMORY,            .--.._ 

-        -           85. 

MOONLIGHT,       ------ 

-        -           87. 

THE  STAR  OF  YOUTH,       - 

-        -           88. 

THE  DAY  is  DEAD,   

-        -           89. 

MY  QUEEN,        

90. 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  BROOK,        - 

91. 

NIGHT,       ------- 

92. 

94. 

4  CONTENTS. 

MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS,        -                       -  PAGE, 

THE  LAKE, 96. 

LIFE, 98. 

A  MEMORY, 99. 

THE  BABY'S  Tear,      ------        .  100. 

IRENE,        ---------  102. 

UNRECORDED,    --------  103.. 

BEATRICE  CEXCI, 107. 

UNDER  THE  STARS,  -------  109. 

CATCHING  THE  SUNBEAMS,        -----  no. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  GRAVE,     -        -        -        -        -        -  "  112. 

^BEYOND  THE  SUNSET  ARE  THE  HILLS  OF  GOD,    -        -  114- 

NEVER,       -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -.  115. 

THE  MISSISSIPPI,        -------  117. 

THE  PRINCE  IMPERIAL,      ------  119. 

Ox  THE  LAKE,           -------  121. 

BEYOND, •      -  123. 

A  SONNET,          --------  124. 

UNDER  THE  SEA,       -        -                 -  125. 

THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW        -       ...  126.. 

EASTER, '-  128. 

MAY,          ---------  130. 

SUMMER  RAIN,          -------  131. 

SEPTEMBER,        --------  132. 

OCTOBER,   ---------  133. 

FALLING  LEAVES, 135. 

AUTUMN  FLOWERS,    -------  135. 

REMEMBRANCE,           -------  137. 

WINTER   FLOWERS,     -------  138. 

SNOW  FLAKES, 140. 

SUNSET  ON  THE  MISSISSIPPI,      -        -        -        -        -  141. 

NOT  DEAD  BUT  SLEEPING,        -----  143. 

A  SUNBEAM,       -                145. 

THE  PHANTOM  OF  LOVE, 148-152^ 


LOVE    OR  FAME. 


PART  I. 
GIRLHOOD. 


„-» 

IRLHOOD,  the  dearest  time  of  joy  and  love, 
The  sunny  spring  of  gladness  and  of  peace, 
The  time  that  joins  its  links  with  heaven  above, 
And  all  that's  pure  below ;  a  running  ease 
Of  careless  thought  beguiles  the  murmuring  stream 
Of  girlish  life,  and  as  some  sweet,  vague  dream, 
The  fleeting  days  go  by ;  fair  womanhood 
Comes  oft  to  lure  the  girlish  feet  away, 
But  by  the  brooklet  still  they  love  to  stray, 
Nor  long  to  seek  the  world's  engulfing  flood. 

HILDA — a  name  that  seems  to  stand  alone — 
So  strong,  so  clear  its  sharply  echoing  tone ; 
And  yet  a  name  that  holds  a  weirdlike  grace, 
Withal  like  some  strange,  haunting,  beauteous  face ; 


6  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

A  woman's  name,  by  woman's  truth  made  dear, 
That  leans  upon  itself  and  knows  no  fear, 
And  yet  a  name  a  shrinking  girl  might  wear, 
With  girlish  ease,  devoid  of  thought  and  care. 
And  she  is  worthy  of  this  name  so  true — 
This  girl  with  thoughtful  eyes  of  darkest  hue, 
This  maiden  stepping  o'er  the  golden  line 
That  separates  the  child  from  woman  divine. 
Not  yet  she  feels  the  longing,  vague  unrest 
That  ever  fills  the  woman's  throbbing  breast, 
But  with  a  childlike  questioning  after  truth, 
She  lingers  yet  amid  the  dreams  of  youth. 

And  now  upon  the  bounding  ocean's  shore 

She  stands  where  creep  the  wavelets  more  and  more. 

Until  at  last  the  rocky  ledge  they  meet, 

And  break  in  foam  around  her  lingering  feet. 

Her  eyes  glance  downward  in  a  careless  way, 

As  though  she  loved  their  soft  caressing  play, 

And  fain  would  stand  and  muse  forever  there, 

Lulled  by  their  murmuring  sound. 

Placid  and  fair 

The  ocean  lies  before  her  dreamy  eyes, 
Stretched  forth  in  beauty  'neath  the  sunny  skies,. 
And  through  the  clouds'  far  lifting,  sheeny  mist 
She  sees  the  pale  blue  skies  by  sunlight  kissed. 
Enraptured  by  the  calm  and  holy  scene, 


GIRLHOOD. 

She  stands  a  creature  pure  and  glad  ;  serene, 
Her  eyes  glance  heavenward  and  a  roseate  shade 
Plays  o'er  her  Hebe  features — perfect  made. 

A  child  of  nature,  she  has  never  known 
The  arts  and  wiles  which  worldlier  spirits  own ; 
She  loves  the  ocean's  ever  changing  play, 
When  round  her  form  is  flung  its  dashing  spray, 
And  oft  she  laughs  in  wildest,  merriest  glee 
When  folded  close  within  its  billows  free. 

She  loves  the  wildwood's  green  and  leafy  maze, 
Within  whose  foliage  hide  the  sun's  bright  rays; 
And  like  a  child  she  hoards  the  bright-eyed  flowers, 
Companions  of  so  many  happy  hours. 
With  loving  heart  she  greets  each  form  of  earth, 
To*  which  God's  kindly  hand  has  given  birth. 
But  better  far  than  all,  she  loves  to  roam 
Far  on  the  cliff's  lone  height,  and  there  at  eve 
To  watch  the  dark  ships  as  they  wander  home. 
Strange  dreams  in  this  calm  hour  her  fancies  weave, 
So  quaint  and  odd,  they  seem  but  shadowy  rays, 
Caught  from  the  sunset's  deep,  mysterious  haze. 

Lo !  now  she  stands  like  some  pale  statue  fair, 
With  eyes  cast  down  and  careless  falling  hair ; 
She  vaguely  dreams  of  things  that  are  to  be, 
A  woman's  future,  noble,  fresh  and  free ; 


8  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  o'er  her  face  youth's  crimson  colors  flow, 
As  with  a  beating  heart  she  thinks  she'll  give 
Her  life  to  one  true  heart,  and  with  a  glow 
Of  pride  she  vows  her  future  life  to  live 
So  good  and  true  that  all  her  days  shall  seem 
But  the  fulfilment  of  his  heart's  proud  dream. 

Yet  soon  she  trembles  with  some  unknown  thought, 
A  vague  and  restless  longing  fills  her  breast, 
And  with  a  passionate  fear  her  mind  is  wrought. 
She  cannot  cast  away  the  strange  unrest ; 
With  hands  clasped  close  in  attitude  of  prayer 
She  stands,  her  pleading  face  so  young  and  fair, 
Is  turned  unto  the  skies,  but  no,  not  here 
Will  God  speak  all  unto  her  listening  ear  ; 
Too  soon  in  dark,  deep  strife  upon  this  shore 
Her  soul  will  yield  its  peace  forevermore. 

And  then  she  hurries  home  with  flying  feet, 
The  faces  of  that  humble  home  to  meet ; 
For  there  in  peace  her  dear  old  parents  dwell, 
That  simple  twain  who  love  this  maid  so  well 
They  fain  would  keep  her  with  them  ever  there, 
A  thoughtless  child,  free  from  all  grief  and  care. 
But  ah  !  they  cannot  understand  the  heart, 
Which  turns  from  all  their  loving  ways  apart, 
And  dwells  within  a  region  of  its  own. 
Within  that  home  she  seems  to  stand  alone, 


GIRLHOOD. 

While  all  unseen  the  forces  gather,  day 

By  day,  that  o'er  her  life  shall  hold  their  sway; 

And  like  a  fragile  flower  before  the  storm, 

She  bows  her  head  and  bends  her  slender  form, 

For  even  like  the  floweret  she  must  stand 

And  brave  the  tempest,  for  'tis  God's  command. 

And  like'  to  her  how  many  a  girl  has  stood 

Upon  the  unknown  brink  of  womanhood 

And  sought  in  vain  for  guiding  hand  and  power ; 

But  unlike  her  in  that  dread  trial  hour, 

They've  lost  their  faith,  for  Hilda's  trusting  mind, 

E'en  though  it  stood  alone,  had  so  much  strength, 

And  faith  that  to  life's  problem  she  could  find 

Solution  strange  and  subtle ;  even  though  at  length 

.She  might  complain  and  grieve  o'er  all  the  wasted  past. 

Oh !  life  is  dark  and  full  of  unseen  care, 

And  better  were  it  if  all  girls  thus  fair 

And  young  were  truly  understood  at  last. 

For  every  girl  some  time  will  feel  the  need 

Of  loving  hearts  to  strengthen  and  to  lead, 

When  first  are  opened  to  her  wondering  eyes 

The  world's  fair  fields  and  seeming  paradise. 

.She  only  sees  the  beauty — hears  the  song, 

Knows  not  the  hidden  snares,  nor  dreams  of  wrong. 

'Tis  woman's  happiest  time,  and  yet  'tis  true 

A  sombre  tinge  may  mar  its  brightest  hue. 

For  girlhood  too  will  have  its  doubts  and  fears, 


io  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Will  lose  the  past  and  long  for  coming  years, 

And  sad  indeed  when  youth  is  left  alone 

To  face  the  coming  future  all  unknown. 

The  eyes  see  not  that  should  be  strong  and  keen ; 

While  powerless,  weak  girlhood  stands  between 

The  tides  of  life,  and  though  its  aims  are  high, 

How  often  will  they  fail! 

Where  dangers  lie 

Poor  Hilda  stands  and  knows  it  not,  the  dream 
Of  life  to  her  is  bright,  youth's  sunny  gleam 
Shines  over  all  in  tender,  softened  light, 
And  swiftly  do  the  moments  wing  their  flight. 
But  yet  so  sensitive  her  shrinking  soul, 
That  o'er  her  life  sometimes  great  shadows  roll, 
Like  angry  clouds ;  upon  a  wild  dark  shore 
She  stands,  alone  and  weak,  while  more  and  more 
The  unknown  forces  grow  and  cast  their  blight, 
Till  all  the  past  is  lost  in  one  dark  night ; 
Unto  the  woman's  lot  her  life  is  cast, 
And  like  a  dream  the  girlish  days  drift  past. 


PART  II. 
THE   STORM. 

NE  eve  she  stood  upon  a  lonely  lea 
And  watched  the  deep'ning  shadows  grim 
That  threw  their  forms  athwart  the  restless  sea, 
Making  the  radiance  of  the  West  grow  dim. 
A  glorious  canopy  appeared  to  rest 
O'er  changing  sky  and  distant  rocky  caves, 
While  o'er  some  weary  sea-bird's  pure  white  breast, 
A  bright  glow  spread  when  dipping  in  the  waves, 
Her  tired  form  found  therein  coolness  ;  peace 
Supremely  reigned,  and  under  Silence's  wings 
Vanished  afar  and  near  the  waves'  wide  rings ; 
Still  grander  grew  the  heavy  golden  skies, 
With  gorgeous  hues  and  airy  snow-white  fleece, 
And  dreamier  grew  the  maiden's  watching  eyes, 
As  through  and  through  her  trembling  soul  and  frame, 
The  thrill  of  nature's  beauty  softly  came  ; 
And  while  her  eyes  with  love  and  rapture  filled, 
Of  all  that  weird  and  strangely  splendid  scene, 
All  other  thoughts  within  her  soul  were  stilled, 
While  o'er  her  head  fair  spirits  seemed  to  lean. 


12  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Around  her  grew  a  stillness  unto  death. 

The  waves  their  ever  restless  motion  stayed ; 

All  living  nature  seemed  to  hold  its  breath, 

As  if  by  some  stupendous  power  o'erweighed; 

And  right  athwart  the  sunset's  fading  glow, 

A  great  black  cloud,  like  some  huge  monstrous  thing, 

Threw  round  and  round  the  suivs  last  dipping  ring 

The  impress  of  its  shadow  drooping  low; 

And  lower,  lower  fell  that  mighty  cloud, 

With  menacing  shape  as  in  defiance  proud. 

Until  at  last  all  sky  and  earth  and  sea 

Seemed  filled  with  shadows  from  its  darkening  wings- 

That  dreadful  spell  cast  over  waves  once  free, 

Hushed  into  silence  deep  all  living  things. 

And  still  the  maiden's  watching,  eager  eyes 
Were  fixed  unmoved  on  black'ning  sea  and  skies; 
So  motionless  she  stood  with  hands  clasped  close 
And  heart-beats  growing  few  and  fainter  all  this  time, 
That  e'en  it  seemed  as  though  the  life-blood  froze 
Within  her  veins,  like  streams  in  frigid  clime ! 
To-night  she'd  seen  strange  visions  in  the  clouds, 
Of  cities  great  and  busy  murmuring  crowds, 
That  called  her  on  to  some  far  different  life, 
'Mid  active  minds  and  noisy,  changing  strife. 
With  beating  heart  she  saw  the  clouds  unfold, 
Within  their  depths  there  gleamed  a  crown  of  gold. 


THE  STORM. 

Too  soon  the  scene  had  faded  from  the  skies, 

While  o'er  the  earth  the  threat'ning  cloud  had  spread 

That  rudely  thrust  itself  before  her  eyes 

And  filled  her  with  an  overpowering  dread ; 

Yet  still  she  stood  with  proud, unbending  form, 

Though  all  the  world  seemed  near  some  awful  doom. 

That  dreary  silence  but  foretold  the  storm 

That  soon  would  rage  within  the  night's  dark  gloom  ; 

A  detithly  hush  o'er  waiting  land  and  sea, 

And  then  with  one  loud  clap  the  storm  cloud  burst. 

Behold !  the  elements  again  set  free, 

As  if  with  fearful  spell  they'd  long  been  curst, 

Now  vented  all  the  power  of  stifled  birth 

Upon  the  luckless  unoffending  earth. 

The  waves  around  the  cliff's  low  base  sprang  high 

And  madly  dashed  their  spray  in  furious  rage  ; 

The  maid,  howe'er,  looked  down  with  scornful  eye,. 

As  if  she  could  their  mighty  power  assuage. 

She  gloried  in  that  strange,  terrific  storm, 

The  lightning's  glare  and  hurried  thunder  peal 

Awakened  in  her  slight  and  girlish  form 

A  hidden  might  that  bade  her  trembling  kneel 

Upon  that  lonely,  wave-encircled  height 

And  pledge  her  life  to  fame,  that  she  might  win 

The  glory  of  the  world's  enthroning  light, 

Then  give  it  back  to  God  all  freed  from  sin. 

Long,  long  she  knelt,  her  soul  in  prayer  thrown,. 


i4  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Unheeding  still  the  lightning's  lurid  glare  ; 

For  what  were  raging  storms  and  nature's  moan 

To  that  mad  strife  within  her  bosom  fair ! 

At  last  the  lightnings  ceased,  the  winds  grew  still; 
All  powers  recognized  God's  mightier  will ; 
Old  ocean,  like  a  child  with  passion  spent, 
Lay  gently  sobbing  in  its  rocky  bed  ; 
Anon  it  sighed  and  to  the  dark  waves  lent, 
A  sad,  sweet  song ;  the  storm  indeed  was  dead. 
Along  the  sable  robes  that  veiled  the  sky, 
The  red  stars  glowed,  yet  paled  each  tiny  fire 
Before  the  yellow  moon,  who,  throned  on  high, 
Hung  on  her  crescent  bow  a  golden  lyre. 

From  Hilda,  too,  the  stormy  grief  had  fled, 

And  with  a  strange,  deep  peace  inspired,  she  rose 

From  off  the  rocks  and  lifted  up  her  head. 

The  moon  smiled  on  her  upturned  face,  and  close 

Beneath  her  feet  the  waves  swept  to  and  fro. 

A  smile  as  that  which  lit  the  tide  below, 

Then  dawned  upon  her  lips,  for  God  her  prayer 

Had  heard ;  that  harp  of  gold — these  skies  now  fair, 

Seemed  but  the  emblem  that  her  soul's  dark  strife 

Should  lead  her  soon  unto  a  nobler  life. 

Beyond  her,  on  the  ledge,  a  dark  form  stood, 
Regarding  her  with  wistful,  wondering  eyes; 


THE  STORM.  15 

He  seemed  the  type  of  all  that's  true  and  good 
In  man ;  down  from  the  starry,  moonlit  skies 
The  radiance  fell  and  crowned  his  youthful  head, 
While  on  his  brow  a  dim,  vague  majesty 
Seemed  shadowed  forth.     Yet  restless  as  the  sea 
His  eyes  that  Hilda's  fair  young  face  had  read. 

With  beating  heart  he'd  watched  her  kneeling  there 

Upon  the  rocks ;  had  listened  to  her  prayer 

In  silence  wondering ;  so  strange  it  seemed 

To  see  her  there  amid  the  storm,  but  still 

He  stood  and  powerless  ;  a  gladdening  thrill 

Ran  through  his  veins  to  see  that  form  alone, 

And  o'er  his  noble,  Godlike  face  there  gleamed 

A  pride  to  think  this  maid  was  all  his  own. 

He  loved — and  love  our  hearts  can  ne'er  repress — 

In  truth  he  gazed  upon  that  face  and  form 

As  though  upon  her  head  each  wet  and  gleaming  tress 

Were  more  than  all  the  phantoms  of  the  storm. 

He  loved  as  even  the  sun  must  love  the  flowers 

That  shyly  glance  to  him  'neath  leafy  bowers, 

Or  as  the  river  with  its  strong  deep  tide 

Must  love  the  willows  nestling  by  its  side. 

She  stood  as  one  within  a  waking  dream, 
Nor  looked  upon  the  earth,  nor  on  the  sky ; 
But  only  far  at  sea  whose  amber  gleam 
Was  as  the  light  that  in  fair  gems  doth  lie. 


1 6  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Entranced  she  stood — the  mocking  visions  came — 
But  see !  she  starts  ;  upon  the  air  her  name 
Steals  like  a  whisper  of  the  wave's  low  song, 
Borne  by  the  zephyrs  of  the  night  along. 
She  turns — beside  her  on  the  rocks  he  stands 
With  questioning  eyes  and  eager,  outstretched  hands 'T 
She  smiles,  then  starts  back  with  a  startled  look, 
As  some  wild  fawn  within  its  sheltered  nook. 

"  Fair  Hilda,  tell  me  why  with  reckless  feet 
You  braved  the  elements  and  dared  to  kneel 
Here  in  the  angry  storm — it  was  not  meet 
That  all  this  night's  wild  tempest  you  should  feel.'* 

She  looked  at  him  with  almost  haughty  air, 

To  think  that  to  reprove  her  he  should  dare ; 

Then  fearlessly  as  some  undaunted  child 

She  met  his  eyes  that  searched  her  own  for  truth. 

She  who  had  scorned  the  tempest  dark  and  wild, 

Feared  not  the  chidings  of  his  hasty  youth. 

And  undismayed  she  moved  to  where  he  stood, 

With  blushing,  beauteous  charms  of  maidenhood, 

And  there  with  rapt  eyes  looking  up  to  him, 

She  told  him  of  those  visions  never  dim  ; 

Of  that  wild  spirit  born  amid  the  storm 

Whose  restless  strength  had  swayed  her  fragile  form. 

Before  his  own  she  laid  her  very  soul, 

That  he  might  there  its  inmost  thoughts  unroll. 


THE  STORM.  17 

Her  pleading  voice  grew  stronger  with  each  word, 
Until  enthralled  and  hushed  his  spirit  heard. 
Upright  she  stood  in  girlish,  thrilling  grace, 
The  glancing  moonlight  falling  o'er  her  face ; 
It  seemed  as  though  some  heavenly,  unknown  power 
Had  come  to  her  within  that  strange,  short  hour, 
To  make  the  listener  feel  the  truth -divine 
That  lingered  in  her  words  and  true  design. 

Her  rich  young  voice  flowed  on  and  on, 

In  silvery  cadence  earnest,  clear  and  strong, 

And  still  he  stood  with  bowed  head  'neath  the  skies 

Bound  by  the  fascination  of  her  eyes 

And  winning  voice — and  manly  though  he  stood, 

He  humbly  bowed  before  that  womanhood 

Which  seemed  with  conscious  might  to  grasp  the  power 

Of  fame,  the  world's  alluring,  phantom  flower. 

Amazed  he  stood,  before  her  words  struck  dumb; 

And  startled  gazed — the  maid  he  loved  had  come 

This  night  to  teach  him  that  her  woman's  soul 

Had  dared  to  seek,  than  his,  a  higher  goal. 

At  last  each  thought  was  told  ;  with  eager  eyes 
That  glowed  with  fire,  as  stars. throughout  the  night, 
She  waited  as  some  birclling  ere  it  flies, 
Awaits  to  poise  itself  for  stronger  flight. 

But  he,  when  that  dear  voice  had  ceased  to  flow, 


i8  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Awoke  as  if  from  some  entrancing  spell ; 

He  knew  not  what  to  say,  but  to  and  fro, 

He  paced  awhile  with  restless  step  ;  too  well 

He  knew  her  dauntless  will,  her  fearless  heart; 

He  dared  not  say  her  dreams,  her  plans  were  naught, 

And  yet  to  lose  her — quickly  came  the  thought — 

It  roused  him  with  a  sudden  mad'ning  start. 

"  Oh  !  Hilda,  unto  me  these  things  do  seem 
But  burning  traces  of  some  ill-starred  dream  ; 
I  grieve  that  e'er  thy  soul  should  long  to  claim 
The  thorny  diadem  of  worldly  fame- 
Life's  mystery  to  theeis  yet  unknown ; 
Why  dost  thou  seek  its  misery  to  own  ? 
With  all  a  woman's  power  thou  this  night 
Hast  led  me  on  by  th'  fascinating  light 
Of  thy  dear  eyes  and  voice,  till  almost  blind 
To  reason,  I  allowed  my  wandering  mind 
To  follow  as  a  willing  captive  thine ; 
I  listened  with  a  will  not  wholly  mine. 
But  now  when  freed  from  th'  witchery  of  thy  voice 
I  see  no  wisdom  in  thy  new  made  choice. 
Thou  art  a  woman  pure,  whose  noble  heart 
Would  fain  do,  in  this  world,  its  earnest  part ; 
But  Hilda,  with  a  girl's  weak,  erring  hand, 
Thy  hopes  are  builded  on  the  treacherous  sand. 
Give  up  this  dream  that  in  thy  mind  now  lies 
And  be  again  my  Hilda,  glad  and  wise." 


THE  STORM.  19 

<l  No,  no,"  the  dark  eyes  flash  with  sudden  fire, 
"  Of  this  bright  dream  I  know  I  ne'er  shall  tire  ; 
The  busy  world  has  called  me,  I  will  go 
And  take  my  station,  be  it  high  or  low." 
•"  Dear  Hilda,"  then  his  voice  grew  low  and  sweet, 
•"  I  love  thee ;  and  my  love  has  not  been  brief. 
When  thou  wert  young  I  led  thy  wand'ring  feet, 
And  ever  guarded  thee  from  pain  and  grief. 
Through  all  my  life  thou  wert  its  hope  and  pride, 
But  now  you  turn  from  that  true  life  aside, 
And  long  to  wander  as  a  wilful  child, 
In  other  paths,  by  luring  dreams  beguiled. 
Not  so  my  love  for  thee ;  though  e'en  the  sun 
Should  disappear,  his  race  of  glory  run, 
And  stars  like  lost  souls  wand'ring  through  the  sky, 
Should  vanish  as  that  sun ;  though  worlds  should  die, 
And  all  the  purple  clouds  should  come  at  eve 
And  for  the  earth  a  robe  of  mourning  weave, 
While  to  the  very  skies  the  seas  should  roll 
In  waves  of  grief  to  sweep  the  heavens'  scroll, 
It  could  not  change  my  smallest  thought  of  thee; 
I  count  a  man  as  naught  if  hels  not  free, 
Yet  willingly  for  thy  dear  sake  I'd  live 
Where  all  the  world  my  freedom  could  not  give, 
If  that  I  knew  could  save  thee  from  one  tear. 
Then  wherefore  take  from  me  thy  presence  dear? 
If  thou  would'st  wear  a  crown,  why  leave  this  scene? 
But  stay !  I'll  crown  thee  as  my  love — my  queen." 


20  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

She  sadly  drew  away  with  troubled  mien, 
O'er  bending  face  a  heightened  color  spread, 
"  You  cannot  understand  me  yet,"  she  said, 
"  I'd  rather  be  a  woman   than  a  queen.'1'' 

Then  wistfully  she  looked  out  on  the  sea, 
"  I  have  a  gift  that  God  has  given  me, 
I'd  use  it  that  the  world  should  better  grow ; 
I  long  for  fame  because  I  then  should  know 
My  power  was  felt  and  recognized — but  stay, 
My  words  are  vain,  you  sadly  turn  away." 

"  Choose,  Hilda,"  then  once  more  he  proudly  cried ; 
Upon  his  face  there  gleamed  a  passionate  pride ; 

"  Between  this  love  that  I  now  offer  thee 
And  that  vain  fame  as  faithless  as  the  sea. 
I  give  thee  deepest  love  that  man  can  feel, 
Before  thine  own  my  heart  in  truth  doth  kneel. 
Beware  how  you  do  mock  your  early  love, 
Lest  it  should  die  as  some  poor  tortured  dove ; 
If  once  'tis  dead  your  woman's  heart  may  grieve 
Itself  to  death  ;  return  it  never  will, 
And  like  the  sun,  a  shadow  it  may  leave 
Whose  glory,  dead  and  gone,  will  haunt  you  still.'r 

Her  eyes  were  filled  with  grief,  her  head  bent  low,. 
Upon  the  shore  the  waves  crept  to  and  fro, 
Their  moan  was  vaguely  echoed  in  her  breast 
That  vainly  struggled  with  its  great  unrest. 


THE  STORM.  • 

Her  heart  was  throbbing  with  the  heavy  pain 

His  words  had  caused ;  on  each  fair  cheek  a  stain 

Of  crimson  lay,  as  that  which  softly  falls 

From  setting  sun  on  gleaming  marble  walls. 

It  rose  unto  a  glow,  then  died  away 

In  fitful  gleams  ;  on  drooping  eyelids  lay 

A  weight,  yet  'neath  those  heavy  veils  of  snow 

The  dark  eyes  quivered  with  a  restless  glow. 

She  could  not  speak,  mute  as  the  rocks  that  stand 

In  stony  silence  now  and  evermore, 

She  stood,  while  stars  looked  down  from  heaven's  shore 

And  pitied  her.     Unto  his  proud  command 

Her  heart  had  not  yet  dared  to  make  reply, 

Lest  in  those  words  a  deeper  pain  should  lie. 

Impatient  grown,  he  paces  to  and  fro 
Upon  the  rocks,  then  on  the  tide  below, 
Looks  down  with  troubled  frowns  and  stifled  sighs. 
As  quick  as  light  across  the  calm,  clear  skies, 
A  meteor  flashes  down,  a  dazzling  sight, 
Then  dies,  and  all  the  heavens  seem  as  before. 
'  Look,  Hilda,  look !  so  dies  this  lamp  of  night 
That  once  was  placed  upon  God's  starry  floor 
To  give  us  light,  while  yet  doth  gleam  each  star 
That  calmly  moves  within  its  own  allotted  space. 
Take  warning,  Hilda,  fly  not  from  thy  place, 
Nor  seek  to  wander  from  thy  realm  too  far, 


22  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Lest  in  a  trackless  waste  thy  soul  shall  stray, 
And  as  this  meteor,  flash  and  fade  away, 
While  all  unmoved  the  world's  calm  eyes  shall  gazer 
Nor  give  one  tear  unto  thy  shortened  days." 

Back  from  her  face  the  waves  of  crimson  rolled, 
And  left  it  pale  as  death ;  as  flowers  unfold 
Their  dewy  depths,  to  him  her  liquid  eyes 
Were  gently  raised :  "  Within  that  symbol  lies 
Perhaps  a  truth,"  she  says,  "  I  dare  not  say, 
Yet,  Adrian,  it  cannot  matter  now, 
Determined  is  my  heart ;  upon  my  brow 
A  crown  will  rest  that  will  not  fade  away. 
Oh !  seek  not  in  my  sorely  troubled  breast 
To  rouse  again  its  strength  of  dark  unrest ; 
For  better  were  my  heart  in  torture  wrung 
Than  linger  here  and  leave  its  song  unsung." 

With  sad,  sad  eyes  he  looked  'into  her  face, 
Then  turned  aside  with  grand,  unconscious  grace,. 
And  bravely  stifled  every  wayward  sigh, 
Though  in  his  voice  his  sorrow  still  did  lie. 
1  Then  as  the  sea  that  looks  up  to  some  star, 
Reflecting  its  bright  beauty  from  afar, 
Thus  shall  I  ever  look  on  thy  dear  face 
And  from  afar  behold  thy  winning  grace. 
And  as  the  star's  light  in  the  deep  blue  sea 
Still  mirrored  in  my  life  thy  soul  shall  be. 


THE  STORM. 

Even  as  the  ocean  hears  the  star's  glad  song 
Above  its  own  sad,  plaintive  melody, 
So  to  my  heart  thy  music  shall  belong 
And  in  my  saddest  hours  will  gladden  me. 
I  give  thee  to  that  mocking  world  so  vain, 
Although  it  gives  me  much  and  weary  pain, 
And  may  its  ruthless  hand  be  laid  on  thee 
With  lighter  touch  than  it  has  given  me. 
Remember,  if  thy  spirit  should  grow  weak, 
To  thee  my  aid  will  come  if  thou'lt  but  speak 
And  tell  me  if  within  thy  troubled  breast 
A  longing  comes  for  loving  care  and  rest. 
For  even  now  I  love  thee  none  the  less 
Because  thou  lov'st  not  me  ;  each  waving  tress 
Upon  thy  brow  is  still  as  dear  to  me 
As  sunlight  to  each  flower  and  budding  tree. 
One  look  into  those  eyes  I  love  so  well, 
And  then,  dear  one — a  sad,  a  last  farewell." 

With  that  he  caught  her  small  and  trembling  hand : 
With  simple  royal  grace  and  gesture  grand, 
He  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  then  let  it  fall; — 
His  dream  of  love  had  passed  beyond  recall. 

That  touch  awakened  all  her  woman's  love, 
Her  heart  responded  to  his  silent  cry  ; 
As  flowers  love  the  strong,  brave  sun  above, 
She  loved  this  man  nor  ever  questioned  why. 


24  .  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Before  this  night  no  doubts  had  come  between 
To  mar  its  trust  or  stir  its  depths  serene. 
Oh !  blessed  is  that  love  and  faith  indeed, 
Which  knows  no  doubt  but  only  feels  its  need ; 
That  unsought  love  which  comes  and  fills  the  breast 
Because  we  cannot  help — that  is  the  best. 

With  soft  caressing  touch  unto  his  own 
She  pressed  her  hand,  then  backward  swept  the  hair 
Whose  shining  wealth  around  her  form  was  thrown  ; 
Her  darkened  eyes  with  pleading,  troubled  air 
Looked  up  into  his  own  ;  she  seemed  a  child 
Beside  his  strength,  yet  through  his  form  a  shiver 
Ran,  and  to  his  lips  there  came  a  painful  quiver, 
That  told  too  well  the  stormy  passion  wild 
This  childlike  girl  had  wakened  in  this  hour. 
Its  might  swept  o'er  his  soul  with  fearful  power — 
He  dared  not  move — a  silence  strange  and  deep 
Fell  o'er  them  both,  as  some  half-waking  sleep. 

To  lose  her!  ah!  the  fearful,  madd'ning  thought, 

Unto  a  wilder  grief  his  soul  it  wrought ; 

With  desperate  pride  he  wrestled  with  his  pain 

Lest  she  should  see  it  in  his  face  again. 

But  ah  !  what  slender  chain  of  love  is  this 

That  can  be  broken  with  a  last  warm  kiss ! 

With  longing  eyes  she  stood  there  by  his  side, 


THE  STORM.  25 

Her  looks  fixed  on  the  ocean's  tireless  tide, 
Then  gazed  down  on  the  robes  that  swept  her  feet ; 
His  searching  eyes  she  dared  not,  could  not  meet ; 
And  why  ?  within  her  own  the  dark  tears  stood, 
True  signs  of  weak  and  loving  womanhood. 

At  last  she  put  aside  her  love's  young  dream, 
And  all  the  brighter  did  its  glory  seem 
Because  it  must  be  banished  from  her  heart. 
They  stood  so  near,  and  yet  how  far  apart —  . 
A  gulf  had  come  between  them,  vast  and  wide, 
A  gulf  made  by  her  longing,  restless  pride. 

With  low  and  trembling  voice  at  last  she  said, 
With  sadly  falling  tears  and  bended  head : 

;i  Oh !  Adrian,  my  faint  heart  fain  would  dwell 
Forever  here  beneath  thy  love's  dear  spell ; 
But  ah  !  beyond  the  height  where  breaks  the  day, 
There  lives  a  charm  that  calls  my  soul  away. 
Afar  the  mountains  glow  in  pale,  blue  mist, 
By  fleecy  clouds  and  summer  sunshine  kissed. 
And  see !  beyond  them  all  I  long  to  be, 
Beyond  this  shore,  beyond  the  trackless  sea. 
Ah !  this  is  why,  dear  Adrian,  we  must  part, 
Although  it  rends  my  grieving,  restless  heart ; 
Forgive  me  if  to-night  I've  caused  thee  pain — 
If  grief  be  thine,  forgive  me  once  again. 


26  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Farewell !  when  from  thy  life  my  love  is  fled, 
Henceforth  to  thee  let  Hilda's  name  be  dead.'r 

And  this  was  all — vague  shadows  crept  around, 
The  waves  sung  in  his  ears  their  moaning  sound 
He  looked  in  vain  for  Hilda's  dear,  sweet  face, 
Forevermore  was  lost  her  loving  grace 
To  him.     In  vain  he  called  forth  in  despair; 
His  words  returned  upon  the  empty  air. 
Like  some  pale  spirit  she  had  stolen  from  him 
And  left  him  there  'mid  shadows  dark  and  grim. 


PART    III. 
FAME. 

!l^)j/  H  what  is  fame  !  a  flower  that  dies  at  eve, 
A  golden  mist  that  subtle  fancies  weave, 
An  unknown  star  that  wise  men  never  see,. 
An  idle  dream  of  things  that  may  not  be. 

Farewell  to  peace  when  once  the  dreams  of  fame 

Shall  stir  the  soul  into  a  restless  flame. 

There  is  no  rest  by  day,  no  sleep  by  night ; 

The  eyes  are  blinded  by  the  dazzling  light. 

Ah  !  woe  to  him  who  first  espies  the  star, 

It  hath  the  power  his  life  to  make  or  mar. 

Amid  the  sombre  draperies  of  the  sky, 

The  faintly-gleaming  stars  half-hidden  lie ; 

Upon  Night's  bending  head  a  hood  of  snow 

Seems  weighing  it  unto  the  earth  below; 

With  gentle  frowns  she  shakes  her  sable  hair 

And  sends  the  snow-flakes  whirling  through  the  air. 

And  soon  a  soft,  thick  mantle,  pure  and  white, 

Gives  to  the  earth  a  new  and  holy  light. 

While  with  a  thousand  lamps  the  city  glows 

As  if  encircled  with  a  diadem ; 

Each  lamp  transformed  into  a  sparkling  gem, 


28  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

That  o'er  the  earth  its  flickering  splendor  throws. 
Paris,  that  brilliant  city,  gleams  to-night 
With  glittering  lights  that  hide  her  ghastly  woes ; 
In  mockery  she's  robed  in  bridal  white, 
Though  in  her  heart  a  tide  of  crimson  flows, 

The  city  is  aglow  with  wealth  and  pride ; 

A  gilded  hall  is  thronged  from  side  to  side 

With  fashion's  train  of  beauteous  dames,  who  smile 

And  gaily,  archly  chat  the  happy  while 

With  gallant  men  who  smile  on  them  again. 

All  seems  forgotten — want  and  weary  pain 

That  fill  the  earth  with  all  their  drear  distress ; 

Yet  many  a  heart  beneath  the  silken  dress 

Of  its  fair  wearer  hides  its  weariness     • 

'Neath  such  bright  smiles  that  none  would  ever  guess 

What  lies  concealed ;  and  handsome,  manly  eyes 

In  which  the  hidden  lovelight  dreaming  lies, 

Are  telling  o'er  in  silent  language  sweet, 

The  love  which  lips  and  tongue  would  fain  repeat. 

Rich  jewels  gleam  and  proud  eyes  quickly  glance, 

And  costly  robes  each  womanly  charm  enhance. 

From  tempting  coral  lips  gay  laughter  flies, 

To  be  reflected  o'er  in  arch,  coquettish  eyes. 

But  see  !  each  tongue  is  hushed  within  that  hall, 
From  dainty  hands  gay  fans  unheeded  fall ; 
While  eyes  that  one  glad  moment  just  before 


FAME,  29 

Were  bent  'neath  love's  warm  glances  to  the  floor, 

Are  looking  now,  forgetting  lovers'  sighs, 

To  see  the  veiling  curtain  slowly  rise  : 

And  breathless  waits  that  glittering,  changing  throng, 

To  hear  once  more  their  idol's  rippling  song. 

A  face  divine,  a  crown  of  braided  hair, 

Dark  eyes  that  gleam  with  proud  and  passionate  air, 

A  robe  of  snowy  satin  sweeping  wide, 

A  brow  that  shadows  forth  a  noble  pride. 

And  she  is  here — the  queen  of  song,  Arline, 

With  flashing  eyes  and  proud  triumphant  mien. 

She  smiles — she  knows  her  potent  power  full  well ; 

With  silvery  song  she  breaks  the  golden  spell 

Of  silence — sings  until  the  walls  resound 

With  echoing  strains,  and  all  the  air  around 

Grows  tremulous  with  melody  ;  high 

Beyond  the  very  dome  it  seems  to  rise 

And  reach  with  daring  wings  the  listening  skies. 

Within  her  breast  a  power  that  cannot  die 

Seems  lifting  her  beyond  the  earth ;  along 

On  living  waves  of  fire  her  glorious  song 

Of  songs  seems  borne.     Triumphant  in  this  hour, 

Her  voice  reveals  a  wild  and  stormy  power 

Of  weird,  sad  passion  that  awakes  each  soul 

Into  a  mad,  sweet  ecstasy  of  pain; 

Then  low  the  waves  of  dying  music  roll 


30  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  leave  the  air  in  silence  once  again. 

Ah  !  conquering  song,  thou  wert  not  born  of  earth, 
Celestial  stars  proclaim  thy  heavenly  birth  ! 
And  proud  Arline,  with  wondrous,  thrilling  art, 
Has  cast  thy  spell  upon  each  answering  heart. 
Oh,  sing,  Arline,  and  fear  not  for  thy  song ! 
The  music  of  the  waves  upon  the  shore, 
Is  not  so  grand  as  that,  nor  e'en  the  roar 
Of  countless  oceans  swiftly  borne  along. 
Oh !  poets,  rave  not  of  your  singing  seas, 
Your  rivers  with  their  rippling  melodies; 
The  human  voice  alone  can  touch  the  heart, 
And  draw  it  from  its  lower  self  apart. 
Then  sing,  Arline,  uplift  your  starry  eyes, 
Awake  the  very  echoes  of  the  skies, 
And  rouse  to  nobler  deeds  this  eager  throng ; — 
In  all  the  world  there's  nought  so  sweet  as  song. 

But  hush — in  low  sad  strains  the  music  dies, 
Low  at  her  feet  a  wealth  of  flowers  lies  ; 
She  smiles — the  world's  bright  fame  is  clearly  won, 
Along  her  veins  the  quickened  fires  now  run  ; 
Her  dark  eyes  flash — Oh  !  fame,  thou  art  divine  ! 
Into  her  heart,  like  streams  of  blood-red  wine, 
The  world's  sweet  homage  flows  ;  a  deepening  stain 
Of  crimson  plays  upon  her  face.     Oh !  fame, 
Fear  not,  for  she  is  thine ;  within  thy  flame 


FAME.  31 

Her  soul  enraptured  burns — and  love's  sad  pain 

Is  all  forgotten  in  this  brilliant  hour 

That  proves  too  well  her  strange  and  gifted  power. 

But  see  !  still  deeper  grows  the  crimson  glow 
Upon  her  face,  for  at  her  feet  a  crown 
Is  thrown  of  royal  roses ;  bending  down 
She  sees  in  star-gemmed  flowers  of  purest  snow 
The  word  "  Arline  "  amid  the  diadem 
Of  circling  red ;  and  in  their  midst  a  gem 
That  sparkles  with  a  strange  intensive  light.       * 
She  smiles — a  smile  that  rouses  all  the  fire 
In  one  young  heart ;  with  quick  and  eager  flight 
His  eyes  seek  hers ;  unto  her  face  still  higher 
The  warm  blood  flows  beneath  that  ling'ring  gaze. 
Her  drooping  eyes  grow  liquid  with  the  rays 
Of  light  within  their  depths  ;  the  rippling  hair, 
With  burnished  hues  of  brown  and  amber  rare, 
Falls  o'er  the  shaded  brow ;  while  sweeping  low, 
The  long,  dark  lashes  hide  the  deepening  glow 
In  downcast  eyes. 

Oh  !  painter,  do  not  tell 
Of  silvery  streams  and  shaded,  flowery  dell, 
Nor  talk  of  clouds  with  faces  to  the  sun, 
That  hang  low  down  where  golden  rivers  run. 
But  dare  to  paint  with  skillful,  cunning  art 
The  secret  workings  of  a  woman's  heart. 


32  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Oh,  catch  the  light  that  lingers  in  her  eyes — 
The  passing  gleam  that  o'er  the  shadow  flies; 
Then  paint  for  me  the  secrets  of  her  soul, 
That  I  may  read  as  on  some  written  scroll. 
If  this  you  cannot  do,  then  talk  no  more 
Of  nature's  wealth  of  deep  and  mystic  lore — 
Of  waving  grass  and  azure  skies ;  a  face 
Is  worth  them  all. 

She  stands  in  sunny  grace, 
A  voman — the  fairest  picture  e'er  was  wrought ; 
A  poem  fresh  from  God's  own  living  thought. 

She  turns  again,  for  once  more  at  her  feet 

A  few  fair  flowers  fall — spell-bound  she  stands, 

Then  stoops  and  clasps  them  all  with  eager  hands ; 

Blue  violets,  and  roses  wild  and  sweet, 

Forget-me-nots  and  daisies,  pure  and  white — 

Oh !  dear  wild  flowers,  how  came  you  here  this  night 

To  welcome  her  with  shy  and  modest  eyes, 

And  dewy  faces  where  the  sunshine  lies. 

Caressingly  she  bends  and  kisses  them 

With  warm,  bright  lips — the  royal  diadem 

Is  thrown  aside  for  these  few  welcome  flowers, 

And  all  forgotten  is  the  fame — the  hours 

Of  dazzling  triumph  ;  like  an  eager  child 

She  stands  and  clasps  them  in  her  hands ;  and  wild 

And  restless  are  her  thoughts ;  oh  !  mocking  fame, 


FAME.  33 

Where  is  thy  victory  now !  thy  burning  flame  ! 
On  memory's  wings  she's  carried  back  to  where 
These  same  wild  flowers  perfumed  the  sunny  air. 
And  once  again  with  childhood's  tireless  feet, 
She  wanders  on  the  shore  where  dark  waves  beat 
And  moan.     She  bends  her  head,  her  eyes  are  wet 
With  tears.     Weep  not,  Arline!  your  heart  may  fret 
Itself  in  vain,  the  world  will  never  care. 
Reveal  not  to  these  heartless  eyes  the  pain 
That  clasps  your  heart,  but  raise  your  head  again 
And  let  your  grand,  young  voice  ring  on  the  air ! 
See  !  'neath  your  feet  the  crown  of  roses  lies 
All  crushed  and  torn ;  then  lift  your  proud,  dark  eyes 
Unto  this  throng  once  more,  and  let  them  see 
Within  those  depths,  a  spirit  strong  and  free. 

The  fragrant  breath  of  flowers  she  loves  so  well 
Breathes  on' her  face  and  wraps  her  in  a  spell; 
So  often  may  a  flower's  faint  perfume 
Bring  back  the  sunny  past — the  present  gloom. 

Arline,  Arline,  the  world  is  at  your  feet, 
Why  droop  your  head,  why  grow  so  still  and  pale  ? 
Are  flowers  worth  tears,  does  life  no  joys  repeat  ? 
And  fame  is  yours — is  this  the  hour  to  fail  ? 
And  see !  those  eyes  have  never  left  your  face, 
Those  eyes  like  pansies  heavy  with  the  dew ; 
They  seek  your  own,  reflect  your  royal  grace, 


34  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Arline,  and  read  your  every  thought  anew. 
They  wonder  at  your  silence — smile  once  mure, 
Thou  queenly  one,  and  send  that  eager  heart 
Into  a  rapturous  dream.     Upon  the  floor 
There  lies  his  off 'ring — turn  your  steps  apart 
And  crush  it  not,  for  he  will  grieve,  Arline, 
To  see  it  thus. 

At  last  her  troubled  eyes 

Are  raised  once  more,  and  now  a  gentle  queen 
She  stands  before  them  all — the  shadow  dies — 
A  softened  splendor  like  the  night's  weird  grace 
Rests  on  her  brow  and  faintly-glowing  face. 
She  lifts  her  head — she  sees  the  eager  crowd, 
Her  blood  begins  to  leap,  her  eyes  grow  proud, 
Yet  still  within  their  liquid  depths  there  lies 
A  childlike  mournfulness,  a  dread  of  truth. 
Forever  fled  they  are,  the  dreams  of  youth, 
All  broken  are  the  dear  and  olden  ties, 
And  yet  what  can  it  matter  to  her  now 
She  wears  the  crown  of  fame  upon  her  brow. 
For  these  bright  laurels  that  so  soon  can  fade 
She's  sold  her  love  nor  deemed  the  choice  ill  made. 
Once  more  upon  the  silent  evening  air 
Her  rich  voice  ripples  like  a  golden  stream 
Let  loose  beneath  the  sun  ;  a  yearning  prayer 
Within  her  low-voiced,  echoing  song  doth  seem 
To  lie.     The  bounding  blood  now  swiftly  flows 


FAME.  35 

Along  her  veins,  and  on  her  face  it  glows 

With  warm,  bright  fires.     With  trembling  hands  are  pressed 

The  flowers  against  her  heart,  a  dark  unrest 

.Seems  in  her  soul,  yet  in  those  glancing  eyes 

A  tender  radiance,  like  faint  sunlight  lies. 

Oh,  sing,  Arline,  and  let  the  echoes  die 

In  deep'ning  melody  throughout  the  sky. 

Sing  on,  for  hearts  are  growing  pure  again 

Beneath  thy  woman's  spell ;  a  power  divine 

You  wield  to-night  to  soften  and  refine. 

Faint  hearts  are  growing  sad  and  full  of  pain, 

Proud  eyes  that  have  not  wept  for  many  years 

Are  downward  cast,  and  filled  with  unshed  tears. 

What  though  thy  heart  is  in  that  low,  sad  song, 

They  know  it  not,  their  souls  are  borne  along 

And  strangely  thrilled  by  its  sweet  melo'dy  ; 

They  cannot  know  what  thoughts  may  dwell  in  thee. 

A  song  may  wake  the  echoes  of  the  soul 

And  o'er  each  life  the  tides  of  memory  roll. 

The  music  dies — she  fain  would  go — but  no. 
They  call  her  back,  again  her  dark  eyes  glow 
AVith  longing  light ;  once  more  she  stands  and  sings 
The  plaintive  words  whose  hidden  sorrow  rings 
Through  every  heart.     These  words  her  lips  repeat; 
The  crowd  move  not ;  they  listen  at  her  feet. 

When  nobler  lips  than  mine  shall  sing 
Of  faith  and  holy  love ; 


36  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  angels  round  thee  closer  fling 

•     Their  glory  from  above ; 

Then  think  thou  of  my  sad,  lone  song, 

In  realms  far,  far  away ; 
Though  brighter  memories  round  thee  throng; 

To  gild  each  happy  day. 

When  fond  lips  with  their  glad,  dear  thrill, 

Shall  press  thine  own  once  more  ; 
And  softly  of  their  own  free  will 

Shall  whisper  love's  sweet  lore ; 
Then  think  of  one  who  loved  thee  well 

In  happy  days  gone  by  ; 
Though  round  thee  glows  a  golden  spell 

That  carries  thee  on  high. 

Perhaps  when  each  brave  life  is  o'er 

And  duties  are  well  done  ; 
Our  hearts  shall  meet  as  once  of  yore 

Beneath  a  brighter  sun. 
And  there,  where  life  and  love  are  well, 

We  never  more  shall  part ; 
While  will  return  the  olden  spell 

To  bind  us  heart  to  heart. 

A  parting  glance — a  glimpse  of  dreamy  eyes, 
A  fair  young  face  on  which  a  shadow  lies  ; 
And  she  is  gone,  the  plaintive  song  is  done. 


FAME.  37 

Arline  has  faded  as  the  setting  sun 

Fades  from  the  skies,  and  left  no  parting  trace, 

Save  memories  of  her  pale  and  haunting  face. 

'Tis  twelve  o'clock,  the  city  lies  asleep, 

And  far  above,  within  the  azure  deep, 

The  jeweled  stars  keep  watch.     Down  from  the  skies 

A  dark  veil  falls  o'er  tired,  earthly  eyes  ; 

.Sleep  bids  us  take  farewell  of  care  and  sin 

And  seek  a  nobler,  purer  life  within. 

Night  watches  like  a  black-robed,  silent  nun, 

When  men  would  sleep,  and  kindly  shades  the  sun 

Till  morning  comes.     Upon  the  grim,  dark  walls 

The  moon's  pale  light  in  softened  splendor  falls, 

And  'neath  a  mantle  of  redeeming  light 

Hides  each  unsightly  stain  and  time-worn  blight ; 

While  unto  eyes  now  old  and  dim  with  grief, 

Come  visions  of  a  childhood  glad,  though  brief, 

When  mother-love  touched  from  their  hearts  all  care 

And  left  the  impress  of  her  teachings  there. 

As  rifts  in  hanging  clouds  through  which  the  rays 

Of  silvery  moonlight  glance,  so  o'er  each  heart 

Steal  flitting  gleams  of  happy  golden  days, 

When  in  life's  drama  sorrow  took  no  part. 

Into  a  stately  dwelling  dark  and  old, 

A  woman  glides  with  troubled,  weary  air 

Her  face  is  pale,  her  hands  are  white  and  cold, 


38  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

The  silken  hood  falls  from  her  loosened  hair ; 

She  heeds  it  not,  but  listlessly  she  stands, 

With  thoughtful  eyes  and  tightly  folded  hands. 

At  last  the  maid  with  noiseless  step  draws  near, 

Removes  her  wraps  and  in  her  listening  ear 

Speaks  these  few  words:  "In  passing  through  the  crowd 

To-night,  a  man  of  face  and  manner  proud, 

This  missive  gave  to  me.     I  looked  around, — 

For  one  brief  moment  his  face  upon  me  frowned, 

Then  he  was  gone,  and  though  I  scanned  the  street, 

His  form  again  my  glances  did  not  meet." 

The  lady  takes  the  note  with  careless  hands. 

Then  turns  to  where  the  ling'ring  maid  still  stands 

And  bids  her  go.     At  last  she  is  alone, 

With  eyes  indifferent,  though  thoughtful  grown, 

She  looks  upon  the  note.     "  Oh  woman's  heart, 

Can  you  and  earthly  love  ne'er  dwell  apart  ? 

Why  is  it  though  I  would  not  love,  love's  pain 

Must  ever  follow  me.    Are  hearts  so  weak 

That  they  must  love  though  love  is  all  in  vain, 

And  all  unworthy  is  the  prize  they  seek. 

Ah,  many  like  to  this  do  I  receive, 

Couched  in  such  words  as  do  my  proud  heart  grieve ; 

And  oft  I  wish  that  woman  had  no  power, 

So  fleet,  it  lingers  but  a  tearful  hour, 

To  draw  unto  herself  the  love  of  man, 

Whose  shallow  depths  too  well  her  eyes  may  scan. 


FAME. 

Too  oft  his  love  with  deep  and  fearful  blight 
Steals  from  her  woman's  life  its  holiest  light. 
My  heart  is  not  for  love,  though  love  is  well, 
And  oft  it  hath  a  dear  and  happy  spell. 
"Wrapped  in  the  cherished  mission  of  my  art, 
Contentment  dwells  within  my  earnest  heart. 
Within  the  rippling  measures  of  my  song 
The  choicest  treasures  of  the  world  belong. 
Why  seek  for  more,  the  world  and  fame  are  mine, 
Then  wherefore  love,  though  love  should  be  divine?" 

At.last  she  reads  the  note  ;  upon  her  face 
A  deep  indifference  lies, — a  cold,  calm  grace; 
But  suddenly  her  eyes  light  up,  her  hands 
Are  trembling,  with  a  nervous  haste  she  stands 
And  glances  o'er  the  page.     What  can  this  be, 
Arline,  that  brings  such  new-found  pain  to  thee  ? 
At  first  her  eyes  are  filled  with  unshed  tears, 
Brought  back  by  memories  of  other  years ; 
Anon,  her  mind  by  wondering  fear  is  wrought 
Awakened  by  some  new  unwelcome  thought. 

Ah  !  these  the  words  that  stir  her  heart  and  soul, 
And  write  new  truths  on  life's  unwritten  scroll. 

'Arline,  from  all  the  world  thou  fame  hast  won, 
A  crown  thou  wear'st  that  fades  not  with  the  sun  ; 
Yet  chide  me  not,  if  now  unto  thv  ear 


39 


40  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

I  speak  such  words  as  them  may'st  grieve  to  hear, 
For  I  shall  give  thee  tidings  from  the  shore 
Which  knows  thy  face  and  welcome  step  no  more. 

"  The  two  beloved  ones  left  alone,  each  day, 
Grieved  more  and  more  until  in  peace  at  last 
The  bounding  line  of  life  was  safely  past, 
And  all  their  sorrow  then  was  put  away. 
They  pined  in  vain  for  that  dear  birdling  flown, 
Who,  with  swift  wings  had  left  them  there  alone. 
Yet  oft  in  gentle  tones  they  spoke  of  thee 
And  longed  thy  fair,  young  face  once  more  to  see. 
Unto  our  far-off  shore  there  sometimes  came 
Faint  rumors  of  thy  longed-for,  new-found  fame. 
This  gave  them  joy  indeed,  )'et  more  of  pain, 
For  thus  they  knew  their  hopes  were  all  in  vain. 
Allured  unto  the  world  was  thy  young  heart ; — 
The  gay,  bright  world  in  which  they  had  no  part. 

"  But,  ere  thy  mother's  eyes  were  closed  in  sleep, 
She  gave  to  me  a  secret  strange  to  keep ; 
'Twas  this,  that  though  they  called  thee  daughter,  child, 
No  blood  of  theirs  flowed  in  thy  veins,  thy  race 
Was  of  a  noble  kind,  to  splendor  born ; 
An  ancestry  who  wore  a  kingly  grace, 
The  traces  of  a  lineage  undefiled. 
Upon  thy  brow  their  dauntless  pride  is  worn — 
But  stay,  thy  mother,  child,  though  strangely  fair, 


FAME.  41 

Was  but  a  singer  whose  voice  of  wondrous  power 

Thine  own  is  like,  a  voice  that  filled  the  air 

With  strange,  sweet  sounds,  and  oft,  in  many  an  hour, 

Enchantment  threw  o'er  all  the  eager  throng 

Who  came  to  hear.     Enthralled  by  her  glad  song 

One  young  heart  pined ;  low  at  her  feet  he  laid 

The  glory  of  his  life  that  she  might  wear 

His  crown  of  love.     His  wife  she  soon  was  made ; 

They  lived  awhile  a  happy,  loving  pair, 

Until  thou  show'dst  thy  tiny,  smiling  face, 

And  then  thy  mother  died  that  thou  might'st  live. 

He  grieved  as  only  strong,  brave  men  can  grieve 

For  what  is  lost.     Then  wandered  off  a  pace 

To  seek  new  life  in  lands  across  the  sea ; 

He  left  thee  here,  thy  life  was  wild  and  free. 

Long  years  ago  came  tidings  of  his  death, 

Borne  sadly  on  the  wind's  faint  whispering  breath. 

He  was  a  peer,  the  last  of  all  his  race, 

His  Saxon  strength  is  written  on  thy  face. 

Yet  in  thy  veins  thy  mother's  Southern  blood 

Is  bounding  with  its  warm,  impetuous  flood. 

Enough ;  my  words  are  wandering  ;  a  will 

He  left  that  may  thy  heart  with  gladness  fill, 

Thy  girlish  right  he  recognized  at  last 

And  left  for  thee  his  rich  and  vast  estate. 

Into  the  world's  deep  tide  thy  life  is  cast, 

Yet  thou  art  still  the  mistress  of  thy  fate. 

If  thou  would'st  wear  thy  birthright's  name  and  power 


42  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Speak  but  the  word  and  claim  thy  rightful  dower."' 

And  this  is  all,  her  head  is  bending  low, 
From  shaded  eyes  the  tears  unbidden  flow. 
Across  her  face  the  dark'ning  shadows  fly 
That  tell  too  well  the  thoughts  that  hidden  lie. 

"  Oh,  God !  where  is  the  joy  that  honor  brings, 
Where  is  the  spell  a  golden  glory  flings, 
When  one  short  hour,  like  this,  of  passing  pain, 
Can  prove  the  brightest  hopes  of  life  are  vain  ? 
I  fondly  dreamed  that  fame's  short,  fleeting  power,. 
Could  satisfy  my  heart  in  every  hour. 
Then  wherefore  is  this  pain,  these  sudden  tears, 
That  fall  like  rain  upon  the  last  few  years, 
And  wash  their  glory  out  ?     What  joy  is  mine, 
When  two  dear  hearts  that  loved  me  as  their  own, 
Have  -gone  and  left  me,  saddened  and  alone  ! 
Sweet  mother,  had  I  heard  that  voice  of  thine 
My  life  had  not  been  thus.     Can  fame,  though  dear, 
Replace  that  loss  or  save  me  from  one  tear  ? 
And  can  it  fill  my  heart  through  all  the  years — 
Oh,  God  !  be  kind,  my  heart  is  full  of  fears." 

A  passionate  misery  o'er  her  fair  face  swept, 
It  awakened  all  the  fires  that  long  had  slept. 
She  threw  the  missive  down,  and  paced  the  floor 
With  restless  steps,  then  suddenly  stood  still. 


FAME.  43 

Unto  her  heart  there  came  a  dreadful  thrill 
Of  grief  as  she  had  never  felt  before  ; 
Her  face  grew  pale  as  death,  her  lips  were  white, 
And  then  she  cried,  "  Oh  !  Father,  pity  me, 
For  I  am  grieved  and  full  of  doubt  to-night. 
I  sink  as  one  into  a  dark  and  lonely  sea 
Where  ships  are  not,  so  desolate  it  seems. 
Oh !  can  it  be  my  aim  in  life  is  wrong, 
Are  hearts  no  better  when  they  hear  my  song  ! 
My  visions  fair, — Oh  !  are  they  then  but  dreams. 
That  do  no  good,  but  only  lure  my  heart 
From  woman's  truer  paths  in  life  apart  ? 

'  Oh  !  Adrian,  had'st  thou  then  the  better  thought, 
And  have  I  but  a  web  of  sorrow  wrought  ? 
Do  all  our  hopes  but  lead  to  care  and  pain, 
Has  life  no  sunshine,  only  clouds  and  rain  ? 
Has  woman  no  power  to  rouse  to  nobler  deeds 
The  heart  of  man,  and  fill  his  higher  needs ! 
Oh,  God  !  in  heaven,  guide  thy  child  to-night, 
Upon  my  longings  shed  thy  holiest  light. 
Oh !  mother,  with  thy  tender,  loving  eyes, 
Look  down  upon  me  from  the  starlit  skies." 

Upon  her  knees  she  sinks  upon  the  floor 

As  one  upon  a  wild  and  stormy  shore ; 

Her  face  against  the  velvet  cushion  pressed 

With  hands  clasped  tightly  to  her  throbbing  breast. 


44  -         LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Her  robes  of  satin  sweep  the  floor;  her  hair 
Unloosened,  falls  low  down,  a  golden  snare 
Of  wondrous  lights  and  shades ;  and  pale  and  cold 
Her  face  gleams  'neath  that  veil  of  brown  and  gold. 

•  Her  breath  comes  quick,  she  battles  with  the  storm 
That  gathers  in  her  breast  and  trembling  form. 
She  stills  her  heart — heeds  not  its  painful  throb, 
Drives  back  her  longings,  stifles  every  sob  ; 
And  bravely  through  the  watches  of  the  night, 
She  turns  her  soul  to  God  for  help  and  light. 
A  prayer  breathed  low,  a  struggle  long  and  wild, 
Then  peace  comes  near,  and  like  a  weary  child, 
Worn  out  with  grief,  Arline  lays  low  her  head. 
A  silence  falls,  the  night  is  almost  fled, 
The  lamp  burns  low,  the  moon  with  mystic  grace 
Looks  down  upon  her  fair,  uplifted  face. 
She  moves  not,  o'er  her  dusky,  shaded  eyes 
The  lids  lay  closed,  a  moonlit  splendor  lies 
Upon  her  broad,  white  brow,  and  cheeks  of  snow 
Are  pressed  against  the  crimson  velvet's  glow 
On  which  her  head  is  lain. 

Oh,  ne'er  was  wrought 

A  fairer  form  than  thine,  Arline,  nor  thought 
Was  ever  purer  than  thine  own ;  though  wild 
And  free  thy  life  has  ever  been,  a  child 
Indeed  thou  art  in  ways  of  sin  and  wrong. 


FAME. 

Within  thy  eyes  and  silvery  sounding  song, 

There  ever  lives  a  simple,  heaven-born  truth. 

An  earnest  motive  and  a  girl's  fair  youth 

Are  thine,  and  though  thy  heart  is  wrought  with  fears — 

Ah !  sacred  unto  heaven  those  falling  tears — 

For  these  are  more  to  Him  than  many  a  prayer 

Said  by  unholy  lips  with  humble  air. 

God  does  not  care  so  much  for  empty  deeds, 

If  pure  the  motive  that  such  action  feeds. 

Then  rest,  Arline ;  upon  thy  pale,  young  face 

There  falls  the  peace  of  heaven,  a  lovely  grace; 

Around  thy  head  the  moon's  bright,  silver  rays 

Are  not  more  stainless  than  thy  youthful  days. 


45 


PART    IV. 
BROKEN  LINKS. 

OW  in  the  West,  a  banner  floating  wide 
Of  God's  own  colors  hangs  in  dreamy  pride; 
A  wealth  of  purple  stains  and  gleams  of  gold, 
A  crimson  splendor  o'er  each  waving  fold; 

A  heap  of  gold — a  rim  of  amethyst, 

A  hanging  cloud  by  glancing  sunbeams  kissed. 

Afar  upon  the  tinted,  azure  skies 

A  tiny  cloud  of  rosy  color  lies ; 

A  coral  on  a  velvet  robe  of  blue, 

A  warm,  bright  wave  upon  the  skies'  pale  hue. 

Oh  !  such  the  sunset  sky  of  Italy, 

The  land  of  dreams,  of  love  and  melody  ; 

The  country  of  the  passions  and  the  heart, 

The  mother  of  th'  ideal  and  of  art. 

Oh,  painter!  still  your  heart's  wild  throb  and  cry, 
You  cannot  paint  this  sunset  though  you  try  ; 
The  canvas  cannot  rival  Nature's  skies, 
Before  her  hand  each  human  effort  dies. 
Oh  !  you  must  dip  your  brush  in  waves  of  gold 
If  you  would  paint  for  me  that  amber  fold. 
Oh  !  poet,  seize  your  pen — 'tis  all  in  vain, 


BROKEN  LINKS.  47 

You  cannot  paint  in  words  that  crimson  stain; 
Though  all  your  soul  in  quivering  rapture  lies, 
Your  pen  brings  not  those  clouds  to  other  eyes. 
Though  Art  has  power,  still  Nature  is  the  queen, 
Her  hand  alone  commands  this  glorious  scene. 

Back  from  the  shore  there  stands  a  villa  old 
And  quaint,  upon  a  sloping  flower-wreathed  hill, 
Along  the  side  there  flows  a  singing  rill ; 
Beyond,  the  frowning  rocks  rise  clear  and  bold. 
More  like  a  palace  is  this  lonely  home, 
With  marble  terraces  and  princely  lands ; 
Rare  paintings  fill  each  high  and  finished  room, 
And  marble  statues  made  by  master  hands. 
Without,  a  view  of  waves,  and  skies,  and  flowers  ; 
Within,  a  dim,  luxurious  sense  of  hours, 
Of  ease  and  wealth  ;  a  spot  where  one  could  dwell 
Forever  'neath  some  strange,  enchanted  spell. 

Upon  the  steps  a  woman  stands — alone, 
Her  lovely  face,  a  trifle  paler  grown 
'Since  last  we  looked  upon  its  haunting  grace. 
Yet  still  the  same  child  mouth,  the  radiant  eyes, 
The  dauntless  pride,  that  time  cannot  efface. 
Before  her  gazes  the  earth  in  beauty  lies  ; 
Awhile  she  stands  and  gaze  on  the  scene 
With  dreamy,  far-off  looks  and  thoughtful  mien. 
Then  wends  her  way  to  where  the  flowers  lie,     . 


48  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

She  lingers  here,  she  cannot  pass  them  by, 
And  as  she  bends  to  touch  each  smiling  flower, 
Her  hands  seem  gifted  with  a  magic  power 
That  draws  unto  herself  their  clinging  love, 
As  human  tendrils  drawn  to  God  above. 

At  last  with  ling'ring  steps  she  takes  her  way 
To  where  great  massive  rocks  lie  near  the  bay ; 
Upon  a  rock  which  seems  a  resting  place, 
Just  formed  by  Nature  for  some  tired  queen, 
She  half  reclines,  and  upward  lifts  her  face 
To  drink  in  all  the  glory  of  the  scene. 
Low  on  her  cheeks  the  veiling  lashes  sweep 
That  hide  the  languid  fire  within  her  eyes, 
Like  shadows  fall'n  on  flowers  that  softly  sleep 
Beneath  Night's  falling  dews  and  bending  skies. 
Her  dark  brown  hair,  with  gleams  of  flitting  gold, 
Her  queenly  head  encircles  as  a  crown; 
A  wealth  of  hair  whose  careless  waves  enfold. 
The  quivering  sunlight,  and  its  rays  chain  down. 

But  soon  she  starts,  for  even  at  her  side 
There  stands  a  youthful  form  with  fearless  pride ; 
At  first  upon  her  face  a  deep  surprise, 
And  then  a  haughty  look  within  her  eyes, 
As  turning  round  she  views  the  handsome  face 
So  near  her  own  with  careless,  easy  grace. 
"  Why  come*you  here?"  she  says,  "  why  follow  me? 
Oh !  from  thy  presence  can  I  ne'er  be  free  ? " 


BROKEN  LINKS.  49 

'  Arline  !"  he  tosses  back  his  sunny  hair, 
Half  kneels  before  her  with  a  humble  air ; 
'  Forgive  me,  for  the  fault  indeed  is  mine 
To  love  too  well,  and  for  thy  face  to  ever  pine. 
But  oh  !  Arline,  without  thee  life  is  naught, 
An  idle  dream,  with  only  longings  fraught; 
And  once,  Arline,  you  listened  to  my  prayer. 
Nor  turned  away  with  cold  and  haughty  air." 

She  looks  upon  hirn  with  a  face  aglow : 
'  Why  bring  back  memories  of  the  long  ago? 
The  past  is  dead,  wake  not  its  depths  again, 
Lest  such  remembrance  bring  thee  only  pain . 
'  Tis  true  that  once  a  careless,  heedless  child, 
Bewildered  by  the  world,  by  fame  beguiled, 
I  half  allowed  my  heart  to  hear  thy  prayer." 
'Yes,  yes,  Arline,"  he  speaks  with  eager  air, 
'  I  know  full  well  your  love  was  mine,  and  I 
Now  claim  the  hand  your  heart  cannot  deny." 

'  Lorraine,  how  can  you  speak  such  words  to  me  ? 
My  love  was  never  thine,  my  heart  is  free  ; 
You  know  full  well  I  was  but  kind,  Lorraine, 
When  from  thy  love  I  fled  to  save  thee  pain. 
When  first  I  met  the  world  a  vision  came 
So  bright — of  glorious  power  and  wealth  and  fame  ; 
A  part  of  that  bright  dream  your  worship  seemed, 
That  you  could  claim  my  heart  I  little  dreamed. 


50  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Yet  soon  I  woke  and  with  an  earnest  will 

I  sought  thy  mind  with  deeper  thoughts  to  fill. 

It  mattered  not,  your  heart's  bright  flame  still  burned: 

What  were  your  flowers,  your  jeweled  love  to  me  ? — 

I  loved  thee  not ;  each  one  I  would  have  spurned, 

Had  not  my  woman's  heart  been  kind  to  thee. 

At  last  to  fly  from  thee,  the  season  o'er, 

I  refuge  sought  upon  this  lonely  shore  ; 

And  though  the  riches  of  the  world  were  thine, 

They  could  not  win  for  thee  one  thought  of  mine." 

His  face  grows  darker  with  a  fiery  pride, 
His  eyes  flash  forth  the  love  he  cannot  hide  ; 
He  rises  to  his  feet,  across  his  soul 
A  passionate  fury  his  will  cannot  control, 
Bursts  forth : 

"  Arline,  you  know  not  what  is  love ! 
To  tell  me  this,  for  by  the  fates  above, 
You  shall  be  mine !   See,  yonder  is  my  boat, 
Upon  the  waves  with  me  you  soon  shall  float. 
Hush  !  rouse  me  not  or  you  shall  see 
What  angry  might  your  scorn  has  wrought  in  me." 

"Lorraine  !  "  she  meets  his  gaze  with  fearjess  eyes, 
Though  on  each  cheek  a  burning  crimson  lies. 
She  folds  her  arms  and  stands  before  him  there 
A  womanly  woman,  pure,  and  good,  and  fair. 


BROKEN  LINKS.  51 

"She  says  no  word,  but  who  can  tell  the  power 
An  earnest  woman  wields  in  such  an  hour  ? 

He  turns  away — a  silence  falls — the  night 
Is  coming  on,  the  sun  has  taken  flight, 
Upon  the  skies  a  veiling  shadow  lies. 
'She  moves  not — from  her  face  the  color  dies 
And  leaves  it  pale  and  calm. 

Unto  her  side 

He  comes  again :  "  Forgive  my  hasty  pride, 
Arline,  for  me  thou  art  too  purely  good, 
And  far  above  me  is  thy  womanhood." 

For  answer  she  extends  her  jeweled  hand, 
He  takes  it  with  a  loving  awe,  as  though 
It  were  a  sacred  thing,  and  thus  they  stand. 
At  last  he  speaks  :  "  Arline,  before  I  go 
The  secrets  of  thy  life  I'll  tell  to  thee, 
That  you  may  see  'tis  not  unknown  to  me. 
You  say  you  ne'er  have  loved — 'tis  false,  before 
You  sought  for  fame,  upon  a  wild,  dark  shore, 
You  lived  and  loved" — to  Arline's  questioning  eyes 
There  came  a  startled  look — a  vague  surprise — 
'  The  one  you  loved,  Arline,  no  more  loves  you, 
Although,  perchance,  you  dream  that  he  is  true." 

Why  grow  so  pale,  Arline,  why  stand  so  still? 


52  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Have  you  no  woman's  pride  ?  no  woman's  will  ? 
Why  should  you  care  ?  the  world  is  yours  and  fame, 
And  worldly  hearts  will  love  you  all  the  same. 
It  matters  not,  you  parted  long  ago, 
To  meet  no  more.     Why  bend  your  head  so  low ! 
Lorraine  is  watching  you  with  searching  eyes, 
Before  his  gaze  your  poor  heart  quivering  lies  ; 
He  still  speaks  on,  his  words  are  sure,  though  slow, 
They  find  the  truth  he  long  has  sought  to  know. 

Back  from  her  face  she  sweeps  the  heavy  hair, 
And  looks  up  with  a  proud,  -unconquered  air ; 
Ah !  few  have  wills  like  hers  to  do  or  die, 
To  hide  each  wound,  to  still  each  longing  cry. 
"  Lorraine,  the  secrets  of  my  life  are  mine, 
You  have  no  right  to  solve  its  mystery ; 
Why  seek  to  penetrate  my  heart's  design  ? 
How  sensitive  a  human  heart  can  be, 
You  do  not  seem  to  know  nor  even  care ; 
You  tell  me  that  you  love,  yet  love  is  rare 
And  generous,  its  truth  you  ne'er  can  know, 
If  thus  within  the  dust  you  trail  it  low." 

The  night  has  come,  the  clouds  are  hanging  low, 
Their  splendor  gone,  the  wind  begins  to  blow, 
It  shifts  the  clouds  across  the  gloomy  sky, 
Now  lashed  to  foam  the  troubled  waters  lie. 
The  sails  are  hurrying  home,  the  sea  bird  flies 


m 


BROKEN  LINKS.  53 

Around  and  round  with  frightened,  screaming  cries. 
From  rock  to  rock  across  the  frowning  hill. 
And  deep  within  the  vale,  a  muttering  sound 
Of  far-off  thunder  rolls  along  the  ground. 
A  herald  of  the  storm,  then  all  is  still. 

And  yet  they  heed  it  not,  "  Arline !  Arline !  " 
He  cries  with  flashing  eyes,  "  my  peerless  queen, 
I  cannot  give  you  up,  you  must  be  mine; 
You  thrill  my  heart,  your  beauty  is  divine. 
What  matters  it  though  you  have  loved  before, 
You  cannot  love  him  now,  that  dream  is  o'er. 
Look  up,  Arline,  within  your  starry  eyes 
There  lies  for  me  the  only  paradise ; 
I  care  not  for  the  heaven  or  earth  below — 
If  you  are  mine,  what  care  I  more  to  know  ? 
A  woman's  love  can  make  man  what  it  will, 
For  love  and  thee  my  heart  is  throbbing  still. 
Oh  !  quick,  Arline,  for  see  on  yonder  height 
The  lightning  circles  round  with  flashing  light, 
It  grows  so  dark — I  scarce  can  see  your  face, 
•Give  me  your  hand,  I'll  lead  you  to  the  place 
Where  waits  my  boat ;  before  the  storm  comes  on 
We'll  reach  the  farther  coast,  for  I  am  strong 
And  young." 

His  face  is  close  to  hers — she  starts 
And  with  a  shudder  shuts  her  frightened  eyes  ; 
A  silence  as  of  death — the  storm-cloud  parts  ; 


54  LOVE   OR  FAME.'      . 

A  sheet  of  lightning  flashes  o'er  the  skies, 
It  blinds  his  eyes,  then  all  is  dark  again. 
Where  is  Arline  ?     She  is  not  there,  in  vain 
His  search — how  fierce  the  storm,  how  black  the  night 
Another  lurid  flash — what  fearful  sight 
Is  this  ?     Arline  upon  the  ground,  her  head 
Against  the  rocks,  as  pallid  as  the  dead. 
And  look  !  on  one  fair  temple  lies  a  stain 
Of  blood,  and  on  her  dusky  veil  of  hair, 
The  crimson  moisture  too — what  cruel  pain 
The  rocks  have  caused ;  and  yet  how  pale  and  fair 
She  lies,  unconscious  of  the  rain  and  storm. 
"  Oh,  God  !  what  fearful  sight  is  this  to  see  ! " 
Half  frantic  he  attempts  to  lift  her  form 
Into  his  arms — but  no,  it  shall  not  be, 
For  suddenly  a  hand  is  laid  on  his 
With  iron  grasp ;  upon  the  stormy  air 
A  voice  rings  out,  "  To  touch  her  do  not  dare, 
Or  you  shall  pay  the  penalty  of  this  ; 
If  she  is  dead  'tis  by  your  hand  alone — 
One  pitying  thought  your  dark  soul  does  not  own. 
Begone,  or  here  beneath  this  angry  sky, 
Upon  these  rocks  one  of  us  two  must  die. 
Ah !  think  you  not,  you  fair-faced,  proud  Lorraine, 
I  know  you  not ;  and  well  I  know  the  pain 
You  gave  Arline ;  her  lovely  grace  is  far 
Above  you  as  the  highest,  holiest  star 
That  decks  God's  throne;  then  go  and  leave  herherey 


BROKEN  LINKS. 

For  sacred  as  the  dead  she  is  to  me." 

'  Tis  Adrian — he  drops  upon  one  knee 

And  looks  upon  her  face  with  dread  and  fear, 

Then  tenderly  he  wipes  away  the  red, 

Dark  stains,  and  with  a  strong,  yet  tender  grace, 

Uplifts  her  to  his  arms. 

Her  marble  face 

Lies  close  unto  his  own — he  bends  his  head 
And  is  he  any  less  the  man  because  one  tear 
Falls  on  that  wayward  face  so  proud  and  dear  ? 
What  thoughts  are  his  !  they  parted  long  ago 
To  meet  again,  but  how  ?     Ah !  who  can  know 
What  bitterness  he  feels — that  slender  form 
Within  his  arms.     Beneath  the  fierce  wild  storm 
He  hurries  to  her  stately  home,  and  there 
Her  followers  wait  with  hushed  and  frightened  air. 

Oh !  can  it  be  that  she  is  dead,  Arline — 
The  idol  of  his  heart,  the  world's  proud  queen  ? 
No,  no ;  it  must  not  be,  her  white  lids  move, 
She  wakes  once  more  to  life  and  song  and  love. 
The  pale  lips  quiver  with  a  sudden  pain, 
The  lashes  half  unveil  the  eyes  again. 

He  gives  her  up,  and  leaves  her  to  their  care — 
When  she  awakes  she  must  not  find  him  there. 
Oh !  brave,  warm  heart,  your  love  indeed  is  true, 


55 


56  LOVE  OR  FAME, 

You  give  your  all  though  naught  is  given  you. 
True  love  is  like  the  watching  stars  of  night, 
They  shine  for  aye  though  eyes  see  not  their  light. 
And  Adrian,  fear  not,  God  hears  your  cry, 
In  His  strong  hand  your  fears  and  sorrows  lie. 


PART    V. 
LOVE. 

ND  what  is  life? — a  pleasure  and  a  pain, 
A  vision  of  the  sun — a  day  of  rain. 
And  what  is  love? — a  dream,  a  chain  of  gold 
That  turns  to  iron  bands  when  love  is  cold. 
What  matter  they  ? — the  visions  of  our  youth, 
Through  years  of  sorrow  we  must  pass  to  truth. 
A  woman's  life  is  full  of  longing  days, 
Her  heart  is  not  content  to  live  on  praise  ; 
She  must  have  more ;  a  woman  measures  life 
By  length  of  love,  a  man  by  deeds  and  strife. 

ARLINE  !  once  more  we  greet  thy  sunny  face. 
^Once  more  behold  thy  noble,  earnest  grace; 
But  ah,  how  changed  !  the  hopes  of  youth  are  dead  ; 
Life's  dark  unrest  has  bowed  thy  proud  young  head, 
And  fame  the  mocking  vision  of  thy  youth, 
Has  led  thee  from  the  paths  of  peace  and  truth. 

With  longing  eyes  Arline  is  standing  now, 
Her  arms  are  folded  with  a  weary  air; 
The  same  deep  pride  is  written  on  her  brow, 
As  once  was  there  of  old ;  her  gold-brown  hair 


58  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Is  gathered  back  in  careless  waves  of  light 
That  hide  a  scar — the  memory  of  one  night. 
Her  eyes  look  down,  her  dark  robes  sweep  the  floor- 
She  starts,  for  some  one  passes  through  the  door ; 
She  glances  up — recoils  with  haughty  pride, 
Which  all  her  self-possession  cannot  hide  ; 
Then  with  a  look  of  pity  on  her  face 
She  meets  Lorraine  with  kind,  forgiving  grace. 

"  Arline,  I  would  that  I  had  died  indeed 
Before  I  gave  thee  pain,  my  heart  has  need 
Of  thy  forgiveness,  else  I  cannot  live, 
I  crave  the  boon  that  only  thou  canst  give." 

"  Lorraine,  the  highest  graces  of  a  woman's  heart 
Are  purity  and  truth,  no  cunning  art 
Can  e'er  replace  these  gifts  ;  'gainst  sin  and  wrong" 
They  are  her  surest  safe-guards,  and  her  guide 
In  life.     With  these  she  conquers  man's  dark  pride 
And  wins  the  tributes  that  to  Heaven  belong. 
To  womanhood  belongs  forgiveness  too, 
And  therefore  is  my  pardon  given  you." 

With  humbled  pride  he  bowed  his  proud  young  head, 
Then  looking  in  her  face  he 'gently  said  : 
"  'Tis  nobly  given  ;  if  women  were  all  like  thee, 
Arline,  how  many  truer  men  would  be 
Within  this  world  ;  for  man  will  ever  go 


LOVE.  59- 

Where  woman  leads.     And  on  this  earth  below 
The  grandest  masterpiece  of  Nature's  art 
Must  ever  be  a  woman's  sinless  heart. 
For  thee,  Arline,  the  passion  of  my  life  is  dead ; 
The  feverish  dream  is  o'er,  and  in  its  stead, 
There  comes  a  reverence  for  all  thy  kind, 
And  thou,  the  noblest  ideal  of  my  mind. 
And  now  I  could  not  offer  thee  my  love, 
For  like  some  pure  and  upward-soaring  dove, 
I  see  thee  fly  beyond  my  own  weak  soul, 
To  reach  a  nobler  and  far  higher  goal. 
Yet,  fair  Arline,  oh,  with  thy  lovely  grace, 
Uplift  my  soul  unto  the  realms  of  thine  ; 
And  with  thy  tender  eyes  and  pitying  face, 
Oh  lead  to  worthier  deeds  this  heart  of  mine  !  " 

'  Lorraine,  each  one  must  know  the  price  of  sin, 
Each  erring  heart  must  know  what  lies  within  ; 
If  we  would  live  aright  we  must  be  true 
Unto  ourselves ;  I  cannot  govern  you  ; 
For  ah  !  we  may  not  read  another's  mind, 
God  puts  there  thoughts  that  we  may  never  find. 

'  We  should  not  judge,  for  hearts  indeed  are  weak, 
And  vain  and  selfish  are  the  ends  we  seek ; 
But  each  temptation,  if  we  do  not  fall, 
Will  tend  to  make  us  stronger,  all  in  all. 
Think  not  thy  way  is  right  nor  full  of  power, 


60  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

For  every  heart  must  have  its  wayward  hour ; 
And  though  men  grieve  thee  with  their  outward  sin, 
Remember  nobler  thoughts  may  dwell  within. 

*'  And  now  I  thank  you  for  your  reverent  love, 
And  yet  I  feel  you  place  me  far  above 
My  own  right  sphere.     I  am  a  woman  weak, 
As  all  proud  women  are,  and  soon,  too  soon, 
I  feel  the  world  another  queen  will  seek 
To  wear  its  crown  of  fame,  and  then  my  noon 
Of  life  will  pass  as  others  pass  away, 
Unto  the  shadows  of  the  dying  day, 
And  like  the  foam  upon  the  waves' bright  crest, 
My  life  will  glide  unheeded  to  its  rest  ; 
Like  other  hearts  forgotten  and  unknown, 
My  own  will  wear  itself  away  alone. 
And  yet  " — and  here  the  dark  eyes  flashed  again — 

•"  The  world  shall  never  know  its  hidden  pain, 
For  late,  too  late,  I  feel  the  world  is  cold, 
It  wounds  the  brow  that  wears  its  crewn  of  gold. 
Ah  !  many  in  the  gay  and  passing  crowd 
Have  thought  me  cold  and  even  deemed  me  proud, 
When,  had  they  known  the  truth  of  that  cold  pride, 
They'd  known  'twas  but  my  better  thoughts  to  hide, 
When  'mid  the  bitterness  of  worldly  strife, 
I  felt  for  what  I'd  given  my  longing  life — 
To  wear  upon  my  head  a  senseless  crown, 
On  which  in  scorn  my  own  true  self  looked  down. 


LOVE,  6 1 

Oh,  Fame!  I  chose  thee  with  a  girl's  weak  hand, 

•  And  now  on  life's  dark  shores  alone  I  stand ; 
Too  late  I  see  the  sad  mistake  I  made 
Waen  at  a  worldly  shrine  my  life  I  laid. 

I  thought  to  purify  the  world  by  song, 
But  ah!  the  world's  too  full  of  heedless  wrong 
For  one  weak  hand  to  lead  it  back  to  truth  ; 
It  mocked  to  scorn  my  innocence  and  youth  ; 
To  nobler  work  had  I  my  life  but  lent, 
My  restless  heart  e'en  now  might  be  content, 
Oh,  woman's  life  was  never  made  for  fame, 
Her  soul  is  burnt  to  ashes  in  its  flame." 

•  You  wrong  yourself!"  he  cries  at  last,  "  untrue 
Your  words,  for  worldly  hearts  look  up  to  you 
And  bless  your  song, — I  know,  for  I  am  one 

Of  these,  and  know  the  good  that  you  have  done. 
'  Tis  true,  Arline,  an  earnest  womanhood 
Can  always  do  unto  the  world  some  good. 
One  heart  in  truth  has  felt  your  better  power, 
And  that  is  mine,  in  this  last  happy  hour ; 
And  have  you  nobler  made  even  one  weak  heart, 
You've  done  within  this  world  a  worthy  part. 
And  many  hearts,  Arline,  have  heard  your  song 
And  turned  away  ashamed  from  sin  and  wrong. 
Xo  man,  however  dark  his  heart,  could  gaze 
Upon  a  face  like  yours,  where  all  is  pure, 
And  not  regret,  oh !  bitterly,  his  days 
Of  sin.     If  every  woman  would  allure 


2  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

By  graces  true  as  thine,  there  would  be  less 
Of  sorrow  and  of  pain,  and  man  would  bless 
The  day  that  God  gave  woman  to  him." 

Her  eyes 

Are  turned  to  him  with  eager,  glad  surprise : 
I  thank  you  for  these  words,"  she  says,  "  for  true 
I  feel  they  are,  and  in  my  heart  anew 
I  welcome  hope.     And  we  are  friends  again, 
The  past  indeed  is  dead." 

A  look  of  pain 

Came  in  his  eyes,  yet  with  a  new-born  pride 
He  turned  away,  that  look  from  her  to  hide. 
"  To-night  I  go,  Arline,  we  meet  no  more, 
Yet  in  my  heart  thy  image  will  be  there, 
To  soothe  each  wayward  hour,  to  lighten  care  ; 
Thy  simple  teachings  have  unlocked  the  door 
Of  life's  best  thoughts  to  me,  and  if  I  grow 
To  better  manhood,  you  have  made  me  so." 

Upon  her  bending  head  and  gentle  face 
A  sunbeam  fell  and  lit  with  mystic  grace 
Her  dark,  uplifted  eyes,  then  quickly  fled 
To  mingle  with  the  sunset's  dying  red. 

A  sunny  face — a  noble  womanhood, 

A  heart's  wild  passion  dead,  a  new-born  pride ; 


LOVE.  63 

One  moment  looking  on  her  face  he  stood, 
Then  turned  and  went  forever  from  her  side. 

The  twilight  comes,  the  first-born  child  of  night, 
A  warning  monitor  of  time's  quick  flight ; 
A  dear,  enchanted  hour,  when  all  are  near 
We  tove  on  earth,  and  yet  an  hour  of  fear 
When  shadows  of  the  past  around  us  fall 
And  joy  and  hope  have  fled  beyond  recall. 

Within  the  twilight  of  the  present  day, 
And  shadows  of  the  years  now  past  away, 
Arline  is  standing  with  a  sad,  sad  air, 
Her  heart  cries  out  with  longing  pride  and  pain, 
"  Oh,  God  !  what  mystery  is  this  of  care 
And  endless  doubts  ;  will  faith  ne'er  come  again  ?  " 
Oh,  striving  heart,  no  mind  the  problem  yet 
Has  solved  of  life — 'tis  happier  to  forget ; 
When  once  the  mind  is  roused  to  questioning  thought 
With  endless  misery  it  may  be  wrought ; 
The  happiest  minds  are  those  that  question  not — 
To  live  in  faith  is  mankind's  fairest  lot. 

And  darker  grow  the  shadows  of  the  night, 
She  looks  upon  the  sea,  the  distant  height; 
Upon  the  waves  the  ships  go  gliding  by, 
The  lonesome  clouds  throughout  the  sky 
Are  wandering  with  brooding  wings,  and  grim 


64  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  shadowy  the  far-off  mountains  seem ; 

Oh  !  Fame,  where  is  thy  joy  ?  oh  !  love's  bright  dream, 

Where*  is  thy  spell?  life,  like  the  night,  is  dim 

And  sorrowful. 

Low  droops  her  young  head  fair, 
Her  whispered  words  steal  on  the  silent  air : 
"  Oh,  what  is  life,  my  soul,  when  love  has  fled  ?  — 
And  every  one  that  I  have  loved  is  dead, 
Save  one,  and  he — oh,  must  I  say  it  now, — 
He  loves  me  not,  I  dare  not  claim  his  vow. 
Adrian,  too  late  I  prize  thee — what  is  fame 
When  'tis  not  shared  with  thee  !     No  other  name 
Can  touch  me  like  thine  own  ;  but  now,  indeed, 
Where  is  the  love  that  answers  to  my  need  ? 
I  had  a  dream  amid  the  storm  that  night, 
A  vision  strange — 'mid  flashes  of  the  light 
Methought  I  saw  your  face,  your  well-known  form  ; 
You  held  me  close  and  safe  from  rain  and  storm, 
Within  the  shelter  of  your  arms  I  lay 
And  breathed  not,  lest  the  dream  should  pass  away; 
Oh,  Adrian,  it  seemed  as  though  a  tear 
Fell  from  your  eyes  upon  my  face,  and  dear 
That  mark  of  pitying  love  was  unto  me. 
My  hair  seemed  wet  with  blood — with  dreadful  pain 
My  temples  throbbed,  yet  there  with  love  and  thee 
I  felt  it  not,  nor  heeded  I  the  rain. 
Too  soon,  howe'er,  the  vision  passed  away, 
And  I  was  left  alone. 


LOVE.  65 

"  Oh !  waves  at  play, 

Mock  not  my  hollow  heart  with  songs  of  eve, 
For  olden  days  I  evermore  must  grieve, 
My  own  sad  song  forever  must  be  still, 
Of  empty  fame  my  life  has  had  its  fill. 
Oh  !  heart  be  still,  keep  back  your  hungry  cry, 
Our  griefs  we  all  can  conquer  if  we  try ; 
Oh  !  soul  shrink  back  into  thy  smallest  space, 
For  thee  the  heedless  world  will  give  no  place. 
Oh !  what  is  life  when  only  shadows  fall ! 
Oh  !  what  is  love,  when  love  is  past  recall ! 
My  laurel  wreath  unto  the  winds  I  fling, 
For  worldly  praise  I  never  more  will  sing. 
Oh !  tears,  what  do  you  here — keep  back,  I  say, 
Each  human  life  must  know  a  sunless  day." 

Unto  her  breast  her  hands  are  tightly  pressed, 
She  bravely  struggles  with  the  old  unrest ; 
Yet  lower  droops  her  form,  the  lashes  sweep 
Across  her  cheeks.     Dark  memories  seem  to  creep 
Upon  her  heavy  heart  and  weigh  it  down, 
'As  shadows  fall  at  night  o'er  vale  and  town; 
And  still  and  white  as  some  pale  form  of  death 
She  stands,  with  folded  hands  and  faint  drawn  breath. 

But  suddenly  through  the  silence  of  the  room 

The  one  word  "  Hilda  "  pierces  through  the  gloom ; 

A  whispered  word,  yet  see  !  it  makes  her  start, 

4 


66  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  sends  the  life-blood  throbbing  to  her  heart. 
She  turns-^her  face  is  stained  with  crimson  o'er, 
It  dies  and  leaves  her  paler  than  before. 
Oh,  life  is  dark,  and  hearts  are  weak  and  wild! 
With  one  faint  cry  she  sees  his  longing  eyes, 
His  outstretched  arms,  and  as  a  tired  child, 
Unto  that  last,  safe  refuge  quickly  flies. 

Then  presently  her  head  droops  low  again, 
She  draws  away — there  comes  a  bitter  pain. 
"  Oh,  Adrian,  my  life  has  all  been  wrong  ; 
I  am  not  worthy  now  your  love  to  claim, 
My  erring  heart  is  selfish,  and  to  blame, 
To  sorrow  and  to  grief  it  should  belong. 
I  left  thee  with  a  willful,  proud  design, 
And  cared  not  that  a  hopeless  life  was  thine. 
To  give  unto  thy  care,  what  have  I  now  ? 
A  worn  and  wasted  life — a  broken  vow." 

"  No,  no  !  look  up,  Arline,  bend  not  your  head ; 
You  wrong  yourself — your  life  is  good  and  true, 
And  pure  the  motive  that  your  actions  fed  ; 
Life's  highest  meed  of  praise  belongs  to  you ; 
Few  hearts  possess  your  true  and  earnest  thought, 
Else  would  the  world  with  nobler  deeds  be  fraught. 
No  man  could  look  into  your  earnest  eyes, 
And  claim  that  truth  in  woman  never  lies, 
Nor  could  he  gaze  upon  that  lovely  face, 


LOVE.  67 

And  scorn  again  a  woman's  pleading  grace. 

I  wonder  not  the  world  has  worshipped  thee, 

For  well  thy  beauty's  spell  is  known  to  me. 

A  strain  of  music  can  awake  the  soul, 

A  kindly  grace  may  touch  the  hardest  heart. 

Then  weep  no  more,  Arline — you've  reached  the  goal — 

The  world  is  better  for  your  sweet-voiced  art. 

And,  Hilda,  had  thy  power  not  been  good, 

My  love  these  years  could  never  have  withstood." 

Her  face  is  turned  to  his  with  eager  gaze 
She  drinks  in  all  his  words  with  ecstasy. 
;'  Oh,  Adrian,  far  dearer  than  the  praise 
Of  all  the  world  those  words  come  now  to  me  ; 
Yet  tell  me,  Adrian,  is  woman's  life 
Naught  but  a  shadowy  dream — a  pain — a  strife  ?  " 

A  grave,  sweet  smile  stole  o'er  his  face,  his  eyes 
Met  hers  with  earnest  look,  yet  half  surprise : 
:'  God  knows  the  longings  of  each  human  heart, 
And  each  assigns  some  noble,  worthy  part, 
And  they  who  seek  will  find ;  the  battle's  won 
When  thought  is  true,  and  duty  is  well  done. 
From  world  to  world  the  deeds  of  man  may  fly, 
Yet  in  each  heart  a  woman's  grace  may  lie. 
Few  men  may  comprehend  her  longing  need — 
.She  lives  in  thought,  he  lives  in  strife  and  deed. 
His  boasted  deeds  may  live  but  for  a  day 


68  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Her  purity  and  truth  will  live  for  aye. 

The  man  who  claims  a  Woman's  hand  and  heart, 

Knows  not  what  boon  he  craves,  what  precious  thing 

She  gives  her  all — he  only  gives  a  part — 

She  gives  her  freedom  up  and  crowns  him  king. 

Tis  true  she  murmurs  not, — when  love  is  there 

No  duty  is  too  great,  she  feels  no  care ; 

'Tis  only  when  that  love  is  cold  and  dead 

She  feels  the  galling  chains — the  hand  of  lead. 

And  therefore  do  I  say  to  you,  Arline, 

Of  love,  and  not  of  fame,  she  should  be  queen. 

'Tis  love  that  wakes  a  man  to  woman's  grace  ; 

He  first  finds  heaven  when  looking  in  her  face, 

He  sees  the  trusting  soul,  the  wealth  untold 

Of  noble  thoughts  that  God  has  written  there. 

Love  binds  his  heart  to  hers  with  chains  of  gold, 

And  makes  him  comprehend  the  beauty  rare 

Of  womanhood;  'tis  this  unlocks  the  door 

And  shows  him  truths  he  ne'er  has  known  before. 

Grieve  not,  Arline ;  your  song  has  done  some  good, 

An  emblem  of  the  true  your  life  has  stood. 

Your  aims  were  high  ;  your  art  was  truly  grand, 

Hearts  nobler  grew,  Arline,  at  your  command. 

Then  do  not  weep, — Oh,  save  those  precious  tears ! 

The  light  of  heaven  shines  on  the  past  few  years. 

And  see !  the  shadows  all  have  fled — the  night 

Is  clear,  the  stars  shine  out,  the  moon's  pale  light 

Is  falling  on  your  face;  look  up  and  know 


LOVE.  69 

The  fading  of  the  shado\vs  'neath  the  glow 

Of  night,  is  but  the  emblem  of  the  rays 

Of  happiness  that  now  shall  gild  your  days." 

He  takes  her  hand  in  his — and  love's  sweet  thrill 
Runs  through  her  veins,  vague  dreams  her  senses  fill. 
Her  face  grows  childlike  in  its  faith  again, 
Her  heart  yields  up  its  wealth  of  doubt  and  pain, 
Her  soft,  dark  eyes  reveal  their  depths  of  fire. 
'•  For  fame  my  heart  has  never  more  desire, 
Were  all  our  planets  moons,  night  could  not  know 
The  glory  of  the  day,  nor  evening  show 
The  splendor  of  the  sun — his  light  is  best. 
So,  were  each  heart  to  worship  at  my  shrine, 
All  filled  with  love,  it  could  not  equal  thine", 
For  thine  is  more  to  me  than  all  the  rest. 
Then,  like  the  purple  pansies,  bending  low, 
That  yield  unto  the  sun  their  royal  glow, 
Unto  the  sun-god  of  my  life  and  years 
I'll  yield  my  love,  and  know  no  idle  fears. 
The  meteor  has  flashed  across  the  skies, 
Yet  in  its  place  a  star  of  beauty  lies ; 
Adrift  into  the  azure  seas  above 
That  star  shall  sail  on  wings  of  hope  and  love, 
While  fame,  the  meteor  that  mocks  the  sight, 
Shall  die  upon  the  earth — a  faded  light. 
And  now,  for  thee  alone,  my  heart  shall  sing, 
Far  from  my  sight  my  crown  of  fame  I'll  fling, 


70  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  in  its  stead,  the  diadem  t'll  wear 

Of  love  and  womanhood — earth's  crown  most  fair." 

Out  on  the  terrace,  where  the  moonlight  falls 
In  silver  radiance  o'er  the  time-stained  walls, 
A  man  and  woman  stand — he,  strong  and  fair, 
She,  lovelier  than  the  flowers  that  scent  the  air. 
Her  eyes  are  velvety  and  soft  and  brown, 
Her  hair — •&  shimmering  splendor  falls  low  down, 
Her  dark  robes  sweep  the  marble  floor ;  one  hand 
Is  clasped  in  his ;  in  silence  now  they  stand, 
No  need  of  words  when  silence  speaketh  more 
Than  all  the  wealth  of  speech,  or  written  lore. 

Her  eyes  are  turned  to  his ;  no  more  they  grieve  ;. 
Oh,  who  can  tell  the  spell  that  love  doth  weave  ? 
The  music  of  the  stars,  a  faint,  sweet  strain, 
Floats  down — an  echo  of  their  heart's  refrain. 
Two  lives  that  glow  as  bright  as  heaven's  own — 
Two  stars,  that  in  the  night  have  closer  grown, 
God  sets  the  music  in  each  soul ;  no  hand 
But  that  of  love  the  music  can  command. 

The  song  of  life  is  done — the  tale  is  told, 
God  grant  the  chain  may  count  some  links  of  gold. 
A  woman's  life — a  man's  true  love — a  song — 
What  dreams  of  life  may  not  to  these  belong ! 
The  weaving  of  a  story,  old  yet  new, 


LOVE. 

Life's  strange,  sad  mingling  of  the  false  and  true. 

A  woman's  heart  is  like  a  harp  of  gold, 

It  yields  no  music  to  the  touch  most  bold, 

But  to  the  hand  that  o'er  the  chords  may  s\veep: 

And  gently  wake  the  music  from  its  sleep. 

An  idle  dream  a  woman's  life  may  be, 

Yet  do  not  dreams  belong  to  thee  and  me  ? 

To  every  life  some  visions  must  belong; 

Are  we  to  blame  that  they  are  sometimes  wrong  ? 

True  women  make  true  men, — 'tis  always  so ; 

Yet  careless  touch  may  soil  the  purest  snow, 

The  shadows  of  the  night  may  hide  the  sky, 

Yet  still  beyond  them  all  the  stars  still  lie. 


MISCELLANEOUS    P.OEMS. 


TO  LONGFELLOW. 


HE  crown  of  stars  is  broken  in  parts, 
Its  jewels  brighter  than  the  day, 


Have  one  by  one  been  stolen  away 
To  shine  in  other  homes  and  hearts. 

— [Hanging  of  the  Crane. 

Each  poem  is  a  star  that  shines 

Within  your  crown  of  light ; 
Each  jeweled  thought — a  fadeless  gem 

That  dims  the  stars  of  night. 

A  flower  here  and  there,  so  sweet, 

Its  fragrance  fills  the  earth, 
Is  woven  in  among  the  gems 

Of  proud,  immortal  birth. 

Each  wee  Forget-me-not  hath  eyes 

As  blue  as  yonder  skies, 
To  tell  the  world  each  song  of  thine 

Is  one  that  never  dies. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  73 

The  purple  pansies  stained  with  gold, 

The  roses  royal  red, 
In  softened  splendor  shadow  forth 

The  truths  thy  life  hath  said. 


Oh  would  the  earth  were  filled  with  flowers 

To  crown  thee  poet-king! 
And  all  the  world  unto  thy  feet 

Its  wealth  of  love  could  fling. 

And  would  I  were  one  lowly  flower 

That  fell  beneath  thy  feet ; 
That  even  in  dying  I  might  win 

One  verse  of  music  sweet. 

The  poet-heart  doth  hold  the  power 

To  thrill  the  hearts  of  men  ; 
And  though  the  chain  is  broken  quite 

It  joins  the  links  again. 

No  hand  like  thine  can  sweep  the  chords, 

No  heart  like  thine  can  sing  ; 
The  poet-world  is  full  of  song 

And  thou  alone  art  king  ! 

Oh  would  my  eyes  could  see  thy  face 

On  which  the  glory  shines  ! 
And  would  my  soul  could  trace  the  thought 

That  lies  between  the  lines  ! 


74  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

But  though  my  eyes  may  never  see, 

My  heart  wilt  worship  still ; 
And  at  the  fountain  of  thy  song 

My  soul  will  drink  its  fill. 

Thy  crown  of  stars  will  never  break, 

Its  'circle  is  complete ; 
And  yet  each  heart  some  gem  will  keep 

To  make  its  life  more  sweet. 

The  following  autograph  letter  was  received  from  the 
poet: 

DEAR  Miss  SHERRICK: — I  am  much  pleased  and  touched 
by  the  graceful  and  beautiful  tribute  you  have  paid  me  in 
your  poem.  I  beg  you  to  accept  my  best  thanks  for  these 
kind  words,  and  for  the  friendly  expressions  of  your  letter, 
which  I  have  left  too  long  unanswered.  Pardon  the  delay., 
and  believe  me  with  great  regard, 

Yours  sincerely, 

HEXRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


TOWER  GROVE. 

Oh  tell  me  not  of  the  lands  so  old 
Where  the  Orient  treasures  its  hills  of  gold, 
And  the  rivers  lie  in  the  sun's  bright  rays 
Forever  singing  the  old  world's  praise. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS,  75. 

Nor  proudly  boast  of  the  gardens  grand 
That  spring  to  earth  at  a  king's"  command ; 
There  are  treasures  here  in  the  far  great  West 
That  rival  the  hills  on  the  Orient's  crest. 

Far  from  the  sight  of  the  dusty  town 
Like  a  perfect  gem  in  a  golden  crown, 
Lies  a  beautiful  garden  vast  and  fair, 
Where  the  wild  birds  sing  in  the  evening  air, 
And  the  dews  fall  down  in  a  silent  shower 
On  the  fragrant  head  of  each  beaming  flower; 
While  far  and  near  o'er  the  land  sun-kissed, 
Hangs  the  roseate  veil  of  the  sunset  mist. 

Under  the  shade  of  the  western  wall 
There's  a  glimmer  of  roses  fair  and  tall, 
And  the  crimson  heart  of  each  royal  flower 
Gleams  purely  forth  from  its  leafy  bower. 
There  are  things  in  this  world  too  sweet  to  last, 
But  we  catch  their  grace  ere  the  bloom  is  past, 
And  the  roses  that  die  in  the  early  morn 
In  the  garden  of  memory  anew  are  born. 

The  dear  little  pansies,  quaint  and  fair, 

Uplift  their  heads  in  the  silent  air  ; 

And  the  gleam  of  the  purple  tinged  with  gold 

Is  as  fair  as  the  roses'  velvety  fold. 

There  are  tropical  plants  from  the  Southern  seas 


7 6  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Where  the  flowers  slee,p  in  the  perfumed  breeze; 
And  the  scent  of  the  orange  groves  fill  the  air 
With  a  mystical  incense  rich  and  rare. 

Like  waxen  buds  in  a  leafy  screen 
Magnolia  blooms  float  in  a  sea  of  green  ; 
And  their  fragrance  falls  on  the  dewy  air 
Like  the  breath  of  the  tropics  richly  rare. 
And  up  from  the  South  in  the  voiceless  night 
Steals  the  scent  of  the  blossoms  pure  and  white, 
And  one  by  one  as  the  winds  sweep  by 
They  shrink  away,  from  that  touch,  to  die. 

There  are  trees  and  flowers  from  every  clime 

Defying  the  scope  of  the  poet's  rhyme ; 

There  are  beautiful  lawns  where  the  feet  could  rest, 

Unwilling  to  wander,  forever  blest ; 

There  are  peaceful  nooks  where  the  soul  might  dwell 

Forever  lost  in  a  fadeless  spell ; 

But  the  tomb  of  the  man  who  is  great  and  wise 

Is  the  loveliest  spot  in  this  paradise. 

And  just  to  the  south  is  a  park  so  fair 
That  the  children  of  God  love  to  wander  there  ; 
And  the  emerald  green  of  its  winding  ways 
Is  flecked  with  the  gold  of  the  sun's  last  rays. 
There  are  statues,  too,  of  the  good  and  great, 
AVho  point  on  forever  to  Truth's  wide  gate, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  77 

And  the  bronze  and  the  green  and  the  sun's  red  gold 
Are  mingled  at  eve  in  a  glory  untold. 

Immortal  the  name  of  the  man  shall  be 
Who  hath  given  these  treasures  so  fair  to  see, 
And  the  grace  of  the  flowers  he  loves  so  well 
The  truth  of  his  goodness  forever  shall  tell. 
But  fairer  than  all  are  the  deeds  of  love 
That  shine  in  God's  temple  of  grace  above ; 
And  Fame  on  her  beautiful  shadowless  height 
Has  woven  his  name  in  a  glory  of  light. 


A  SHELL. 

Oh,  take  this  shell,  this  pretty  thing 
With  tinted  waves  of  pearly  red ; 
Hold  close  your  ear  and  hear  it  sing, 
Then  tell  me  what  its  voice  hath  said. 
A  song  of  surges  deep  and  strong, 
A  song  of  summer  sweet  and  long, 
A  sound  of  storm  and  wind  and  rain, 
A  sound  of  joy — a  glad  refrain. 

O  plaything  of  the  idle  sea, 

Whence  come  these  changing  tints  of  thine  ? 


78  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Have  sunset  clouds  looked  down  on  thee 
And  stained  thee  with  their  hues  divine  ? 
Oh,  tell  the  secrets  thou  must  know 
Of  clouds  above  and  waves  below; 
Oh,  whisper  of  the  bending  sky 
And  ocean  caves  where  jewels  lie. 

O  beauteous  sea-shell,  tinged  with  red, 

What  dost  thou  know ;  what  canst  thou  tell  ? 
Unto  what  mysteries  art  thou  wed, 
Thou  fragile  thing,  thou  pearly  shell  ? 
A  whisper  of  the  sounding  sea ; 
A.  sweep  of  surges  strong  and  free ; 
A  tale  of  life — a  tale  of  death  ; 
A  warm,  bright  sun — an  icy  breath. 

Ah,  more  than  this,  thou  lovely  shell, 

Thy  years  have  gathered  from  the  deep ! 
And,  more  than  this,  thy  voice  can  tell 
Of  things  learned  in  that  ocean  sleep. 
A  grave  within  the  lonely  sea ; 
A  spot  where  love  can  never  be ; 
A  place  where  tears  may  never  fall ; 
A  lonely  grave — and  that  is  all. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  79 

TWO  PICTURES. 

A  beautiful  form  and  a  beautiful  face, 
A  winsome  bride  and  a  woman's  grace, 
So  fair  and  sweet  it  were  heaven  indeed 
For  man  to  follow  where  she  should  lead. 

A  web  of  lace  and  a  jewelled  hand, 
And  life  is  changed  by  a  golden  band ; 
A  dream  of  love  and  a  wealth  of  gold — 
The  old  new  story  once  more  is  told. 

A  wealth  of  flowers  and  a  robe  of  snow, 
A  beauteous  woman  with  cheeks  aglow; 
A  train  of  satin  that  sweeps  the  floor — 
And  life  is  altered  forevermore. 

A  beautiful  scene  on  this  Christmas  eve, 
Where  all  could  linger  and  none  could  grieve, 
A  dazzling  vision  of  wealth  and  pride, 
A  royal  feast  and  a  happy  bride. 

But  turn  your  steps  to  the  lonely  street, 
Where  fierce  winds  mutter  and  wild  storms  beat; 
And  come  with  me  to  the  haunts  of  woe 
Where  life  is  a  burden  and  hopes  are  low. 

Look  on  this  woman,  so  thin  and  white  ; 
You  close  your  eyes-^— 'tis  a  dreadful  sight; 


8o  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

But  shudder  not — she  is  cold  and  dead — 
•   And  died,  oh  men !  for  a  crust  of  bread. 

So  young  and  hopeless,  oh !  God  above, 
With  none  to  comfort  and  none  to  love ; 
A  tortured  soul  and  a  hungry  cry 
That  rang  unheard  through  the  stormy  sky. 

While,  oh  !  so  near  in  the  gloomy  night 
Lay  rescue  and  love  and  warmth  and  light ; 
And  oh !  so  near  to  the  longing  eyes, 
There  gleamed  the  bright  depths  of  a  paradise. 

Oh  !  look  on  t'lis  picture,  thou  fair  young  bride, 
For  one  poor  mprsel  of  bread  she  died ; 
One  glittering  gem  from  your  breast  or  hair, 
Could  have  saved  this  woman  who  lieth  there. 

One  costly  spray  of  your  flowers  bright 

Could  have  bought  the  food  that  she  craved  this  night 

One  drop  of  love  from  your  boundless  store 

Her  soul  could  have  saved  forevermore. 

Oh,  sadd'ning  picture,  this  Christmas  eve, — 
For  thy  sad  story  the  angels  grieve ; 
To  think  in  this  city  of  wealth  and  might 
A  woman  perished  for  bread,  this  night. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  81 

THE  QUEEN-ROSE— A   SUMMER   IDYL. 

The  sunlight  fell  with  a  golden  gleam 

On  the  waves  of  the  rippling  rill ; 
The  pansies  nodded  their  purple  heads ; 

But  the  proud  queen-rose  stood  still. 
•She  loved  the  light  and  she  loved  the  sun, 
And  the  peaceful  night  when  the  day  was  done, 
But  the  faithless  sun  in  his  careless  way 
Had  broken  her  heart  on  that  summer's  day. 

•She  had  bathed  her  soul  in  his  warm,  sweet  rays, 
She  had  given  her  life  to  him ;  ^ 

And  her  crimson  heart — it  was  his  alone — 
Of  love  it  was  full  to  the  brim. 

But  a  fairer  bud  in  the  garden  of  love 

Had  conquered  the  heart  of  the  king  above ; 

And  the  proud  queen-rose  on  that  summer's  day 

Had  given  a  love  that  was  thrown  away. 

The  pansies  laughed  in  the  summer  breeze, 

For  they  were  so  happy  and  free ; 
And  the  lilies  swayed  in  the  waving  grass, 

Like  sails  on  an  emerald  sea. 
But  the  sun  glanced  down  with  n  mocking  light, 
And  the  heart  of  the  rose  stood  still  at  the  sight, 
For  never  again  with  its  love  tor  m... 
Would  her  crimson  heart  be  filled  to  the  brim. 


82  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

"Ah  me  !  "  she  sighed,  as  she  drooped  her  head,. 

"  How  vain  is  my  haughty  will ; 
I  sought  to  mate  with  the  sun  above, 

But  lo  !  I  am  mortal  still. 
I  envy  the  pansy  that  nods  at  my  feet, 
For  though  she  is  lowly,  her  life  is  sweet;; 
And  I  envy  the  lily,  for  she  is  glad, 
And  knows  not  the  longings  that  make  me  sad." 

A  maiden  sat  where  the  pansies  grew, 

In  a  golden  shower  of  light ; 
And  she  heard  the  words  of  the  sighing  rose, 

Borne  near  in  the  wind's  swift  flight. 
"  Ah,  rose  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  am  like  to  you  ; 
There's  never  a  heart  in  this  world  that's  true ; 
I  yielded  a  love  that's  thrown  away, 
And  I'm  weary  of  life  on  this  summer's  day. 

"But  listen,  my  rose,  and  I'll  tell  you,  sweet, 

The  lesson  I  learned  to-day ; 
There's  never  a  heart  in  this  wide,  wide  world 

That  was  born  to  be  thrown  away. 
The  sun  may  smile  as  he  sails  away 
In  the  depths  of  his  azure  seas  for  aye  ; 
But  the  rose  that  blooms  in  the  garden  of  love,. 
Is  as  fair  as  the  sun  to  our  God  above. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS,  83 

"  The  smallest  flower  that  slakes  her  thirst 

In  the  dews  of  the  early  morn, 
Is  as  great  as  the  stars  in  heaven  above, 

The  greatest  that  ever  was  born. 
The  love  we  give  on  this  earth  of  ours 
Is  treasured  in  heaven  through  all  the  hours, 
And  the  crimson  heart  of  the  proud  queen-rose 
Is  as  fair  a  gem  as  the  earth-land  knows." 

The  queen-rose  listened  and  held  her  breath 
As  the  maiden  passed  her  by,  , 

And  then,  with  a  grace  that  was  fearless  and  grand, 
She  lifted  her  face  to  the  sky. 

And  never  again,  when  the  day  was  done, 

Did  she  long  for  the  love  of  the  golden  sun  ; 

For  the  lesson  she  learned  on  that  summer's  day 

Lay  deep  in  her  heart  forever  and  aye. 


TWIN  LILIES. 

Twin  lilies  in  the  river  floating, 
Two  lilies  pure  and  white ; 

And  one  is  pale  and  faintly  drooping, 
The  other  glad  and  bright. 

Twin  lilies  in  the  silvery  waters, 
Two  lilies  white  and  frail ; 


84  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  one  is  ever  laughing  gladly, 
The  other,  still  and  pale. 

Upon  the  peaceful  gleaming  waters, 

They  linger  side  by  side  ; 
And  one,  her  head  is  drooping  sadly ; 

The  other  glows  with  pride. 

Twin  stars  are  o'er  the  river  beaming, 
Two  stars  with  silvery  light ; 

And  now  they  look  with  glances  loving 
Upon  the  lilies  white. 

Two  lilies  now  are  drooping  lowly 

Unto  the  river  tide ; 
While  in  the  wave  the  stars  reflected 

Are  floating  side  by  side. 

And  now  the  stars  are  bending  slowly 

To  kiss  the  lilies  white ; 
Who  e'en  their  fragrant  heads  are  lifting 

In  wonder  at  the  sight. 

And  one  twin  lily  now  is  longing 
For  light  and  heaven  above ; 

And  yields  unto  her  star-king's  keeping 
Her  wealth  of  life  and  love. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  85 

And  as  the  star-god  bends  in  rapture 

To  kiss  her  pale,  white  face, 
Her  soul  is  wafted  into  heaven 

Beneath  his  love  and  grace. 

Twin  lilies  in  the  tide  were  floating, 

With  quickly  coming  breath, 
But  one  is  left,  with  sad  tears  falling, 

To  mourn  her  sister's  death. 

Twin  stars  upon  the  waves  were  gleaming ; 

Two  star-gods  pure  and  bright ; 
But  one  is  left — that  one  is  fading 

And  dying  with  the  night. 


MEMORY 

A  treasured  link  of  shining  pearls, 

A  by-gone  melody-, 
A  shower  of  tears  with  smiles  between — 

And  this  is  memory. 
A  thing  so  light  a  breath  of  air 

May  waft  its  life  away ; 
A  thing  so  dark  that  moments  of  pain 

Seem  like  some  endless  day. 


86  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

A  careless  word  may  wound  the  heart, 

And  quickly  it  may  die ; 
Yet  in  the  seas  of  memory 

Forever  it  will  lie. 
And  sometimes  when  the  tide  rolls  back 

Its  waves  of  joy  and  pain, 
That  careless  word,  though  long  forgot, 

Will  wound  the  heart  again.  t 

The  restless  seas  of  memory 

Are  vast  and  deep  and  wide ; 
And  every  deed  that  we  can  know 

Sleeps  in  that  tireless  tide. 
Upon  the  thoughtless  lives  of  men 

Its  waves  in  mockery  roll ; 
And  sweep  a  might  of  bitter  pain 

Across  each  human  soul. 

And  few  can  stand  upon  the  sands 

Beside  this  boundless  sea, 
And  say  with  calm  unfaltering  voice 

"  It  has  no  grief  for  me." 
The  passing  wave  may  bear  away 

Our  deeds  and  words  untrue  ; 
Yet  surely  as  the  tide  comes  in 

The  wrecks  will  follow  too. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  87 

MOONLIGHT. 

Oh,  what  so  subtle  as  the  spell 

The  silvery  moonlight  weaves  ? 
Oh,  what  so  sad  and  what  so  glad, 

And  what  so  soon  deceives. 

A  vision,  of  the  long  ago — 

Long  years  of  pain  between  ; 
A  mocking  dream  of  happier  days — 

A  veil  of  silver  sheen. 

A  passing  gleam  of  falling  stars — 

An  idle  summer's  dream ; 
The  sudden  waking  of  a  heart — 

Things  are  not  as  they  seem. 

Oh,  silver  moon,  indeed  you  hold' 

The  secrets  of  the  heart ; 
And  none  can  know  and  none  can  guess 

The  mystery  of  thy  art. 

A  silvery  length  of  rippling  waves, 

A  glance  from  happy  eyes  ; 
A.  strain  of  music  low  and  sweet — 

The  heart  in  rapture  lies. 

Yet,  ah,  how  faithless  are  the  vows 
Made  'neath  the  summer  moon  ; 


88  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

As  changing  as  the  falling  rays 
That  fade  away  as  soon. 

For  love  is  like  the  subtle  spell 
The  silver  moonlight  weaves ; 

And  what  so  sad  and  what  so  glad 
And  what  so  soon  deceives  ? 


THE  STAR  OF  YOUTH. 

The  sun  sinks  down  in  the  crimson  west, 

Oh,  a  beautiful  sun  is  he  ; 
With  his  purple  robes  and  his  crown  of  gold 

And  his  feet  dipped  in  the  sea. 

Along  the  shore  where  the  sea-weeds  lie. 

Like  threads  of  her  tangled  hair, 
Naomi  stands  in  the  amber  glow 

Of  the  mystical  sunset  air. 

Her  hair  is  brown,  with  a  yellow  tinge 
That  rivals  the  gold  of  the  west ; 

Her  eyes  are  dark  with  the  velvety  glow 
That  darkens  the  pansy's  breast. 

A  star  shines  out  in  the  purple  east,. 
Oh,  a  beautiful  star  is  he  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

With  his  home  in  the  wonderful  azure  skies, 
And  his  throne  in  the  deep  blue  sea. 

There  are  bars  of  gold  in  the  crimson  west 

And  jewels  on  every  bar ; 
Yet  Naomi's  soul  is  beyond  the  sea, 

And  her  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  star. 

O  star  that  shines  in  the  dusky  east, 

Be  thou  the  star  of  my  youth, 
And  guide  my  soul  through  the  shadows  of  earth 

To  the  shining  gates  of  truth. 

There  are  years  that  melt  in  the  seas  of  life 

Like  drops  in  the  ocean  of  time ; 
And  the  joys  they  bring  are  as  soon  forgot 

As  the  words  of  a  careless  rhyme. 

Be  thou  the  light  that  shall  guide  me  far 

From  the  years  that  vanish  as  rain, 
And  lead  my  soul  to  the  feet  of  God, 

Even  through  years  of  pain. 


THE  DAY  IS  DEAD. 

The  day  is  dead, 

And  evening  trails  her  purple  robes 
In  fading  fifes  of  red. 


9o  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

The  day  is  dead, 
And  yonder  lily  welcomes  sleep 
And  nods  her  weary  head. 

The  day  is  dead, 

And  night  droops  low  her  sable  plumes 
To  mourn  the  glory  fled. 


MY  QUEEN. 

A  fair  sweet  blossom  is  born  for  you, 

A  beautiful  rose,  my  queen  ! 
And  never  was  flower  so  fair  as  this, 

Oh,  never  so  fair,  I  ween  ! 
A  banner  is  hung  in  the  western  sky 
Of  colors  that  flash  ere  they  fade  and  die  ; 
And  the  rippling  waves  where  the  waters  run 
Are  stained  with  the  gold  of  the  summer  sun ; 
The  world  is  so  fair  for  you,  my  queen, 

The  world  is  so  fair  and  true  ; 
And  the  rose  that  blossoms  to-day,  my  own, 

Is  the  love  that  I  have  for  you. 

The  grasses  that  spring  at  your  feet,  my  queen, 

Could  whisper  all  day  in  your  ear ; 
But  I  stand  dumb  at  your  side,  my  own, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  91 

Stilled  by  my  love's  own  fear. 
Oh,  what  would  you  know  of  my  love's  sweet  will 
The  heart  speaks  most  when  the  lips  are  still ; 
And  the  love  that  is  filling  my  soul  to-day 
Is  the  beautiful  blossom  you  throw  away. 
But  I  worship  you  still,  my  queen,  my  queen, 

I  worship  you  still,  I  ween ; 
For  the  loveliest  blossom  on  earth  I  know 

Is  my  beautiful  love,  my  queen! 


THE   SONG   OF  THE   BROOK. 

Oh,  what  would  you  have,  you  splendid  sun, 

With  your  restless  eyes  of  fire  ? 
And  why  do  you  lean  o'er  the  lilies  pale  ? 

What  more  can  your  heart  desire  ? 

You've  crimsoned  the  rays  in  the  heart  of  the  rose, 
You've  drunk  up  the  dewdrops  all ; 

And  down  in  the  meadows  your  golden  light 
Has  gilded  the  daisies  tall. 

The  thirsty  flowers  that  grow  on  the  hill 

Have  given  their  lives  to  you  ; 
And  what  do  you  care,  you  restless  sun', 

As  you  sail  through  your  seas  of  blue  ? 


92  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Your  rays  are  so  warm,  like  the  glances  of  love,. 

The  lily  is  mad  with  delight ; 
And  whispers  her  secret  with  silent  joy, 

As  she  kisses  my  face  in  the  night. 

What  more  can  you  want,  O  eager  sun  ? 

I've  given  my  all  to  you  ; 
I've  counted  my  treasures  and  claimed  them  not. 

What  more  can  I  ever  do  ? 

But,  eager  sun,  with  your  restless  rays, 

Know  this,  that  I  love  not  you ; 
For  the  sun  that  knoweth  a  world  of  loves 

To  one  can  never  be  true. 


NIGHT. 

'  Tis  eventide  ;  the  noisy  brook  is  hushed 

Or  murmurs  only  as  a  tired  child, 

Worn  out  with  play ;  the  tangled  weeds  lie  still 

Within  the  marshy  hollow.     Quaint  and  dark 

The  willows  bend  above  the  brooklet's  tide, 

Reflecting  shadowy  images  therein. 

The  dark-browed  trees,  with  faces  to  the  sky. 

Shut  out  the  light  that  fades  in  crimson  lines 

Along  the  western  sky.     And  yonder  shade 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  03 

Of  purple  marks  the  cloud,  the  storm-god  rides 
In  moods  of  angry  fire. 

The  woods  are  filled 

With  wild-wood  blossoms  drinking  in  the  dew. 
Their  scented  breath  is  sweeter  than  the  maid's 
Who  stands  at  eve  and  drinks  in  love  and  hope 
From  every  budding  flower. 

All  day  the  sun 

With  fiery  breath  has  held  his  hot,  long  reign ; 
The  leaves  have  quivered  'neath  his  burning  gaze, 
And  all  the  flowers  have  drooped  ;  yet  now  the  moon, 
His  pale  young  bride,  awaking  from  her  spell 
Of  sweet  day  dreams,  arises  in  the  dusky  East, 
And  sweeping  back  the  clouds  that  dim  her  crown 
Of  stars,  floods  all  the  world  with  holy  light. 

Oh,  welcome  night !  the  flowers  love  their  queen ! 
Yea,  better  than  their  king,  for  he  is  fierce 
And  warm,  and  drinks  the  jewelled  dew-drops  all. 
Her  hand  is  cool  and  soothing  !  'neath  its  spell 
They  sink  to  restful  slumber. 

Bless'd  night ! 

When  all  the  world's  asleep,  and  thought  can  fly 
On  tireless  wings  from  sky  to  sky,  when,  free 
From  earthly  chains,  the  soul  immortal  feels 
Its  throbbing  freedom. 


94  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

•  Bless'd  night ! 

When  God  looks  down  from  every  shining  star, 
And  breathes  in  every  dew-gemmed  flower,  when  faith 
From  her  rock-bound  temple  on  the  hills 
His  everlasting  glory  sings  !  Oh,  welcome  night ! 
Thy  beauty  holds  the  spell  that  wakes  to  life 
All  things  immortal.     Crowned  be  thou  with  light 
Eternal  as  the  sun  whose  radiance  wakes  the  day. 


SOUNDS  FROM  THE  CONVENT. 

"Come,  pensive  nun,  devout  and  pure, 
Sober,  steadfast  and  demure." 

—\_Milto 

White-robed  nun,  I  pray  thee  tell  me 

Whatsoe'er  my  life  shall  be ; 
Thou  of  God  art  purely  chosen, 

Ne'er  can  I  be  like  to  thee. 

There  is  sunlight  in  the  shadow 

Of  the  lives  we  live  below ; 
There  is  starlight  in  the  darkness 

Of  the  night  of  human  woe. 

Yet  I  pray  thee,  sweet-voiced  woman, 
Tell  me  of  thy  life  and  thee  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Can  the  soul  to  heaven  given 
Yield  its  secrets  unto  me  ? 

Nevermore  the  earth  shall  claim  thee, 

Only  lilies  bloom  for  thee  ; 
All  the  world  is  full  of  beauty 

That  thy  eyes  may  never  see. 

On  the  hill  the  daisies  springing, 
Lift  their  heads  to  greet  the  morn  ; 

Yet  thou  mayst  not  pluck  the  smallest 
Of  these  blossoms  lately  born. 

Violets  may  bring  no  memories 
Unto  thee  of  days  gone  by ; 

Summer  eves  and  joyous  mornings — 
In  the  grave  these,  too,  must  die. 

Long  ago,  the  roses  drooping, 

Crimson  blushed  and  died  for  thee ; 

Yet  to-day  no  more  thou  know'st  them, 
They  are  lost  in  Life's  dead  sea. 

Oh,  the  world  is  full  of  beauty ! 

Oh,  the  world  is  full  of  love ! 
Yet  the  chains  that  bind  thee  earthward, 

Link  thy  soul  with  Heaven  above. 


9b 


96  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Through  the  windows  creeps  the  sunlight, 

Rays  of  gold  and  restless  red ; 
Covering  all  the  world  with  glory, 

Sweetly  resting  on  thy  head. 

Would  my  life  were  crowned  with  sunlight, 
Would  my  soul  was  pure  as  thine  ! 

Then  the  world  no  more  would  know  me, 
Earth  were  Heaven,  and  Heaven  were  mine 


THE  LAKE. 

A  limpid  lake,  a  diamond  gem, 
The  moonbeams  kissed  with  light ; 

And  all  the  stars  that  heaven  knew 
Were  mirrored  in  the  night. 

How  fair  the  world,  how  fair  the  night, 

When  lake  and  river  run 
Like  jeweled  streams  of  fairy  land 

Beneath  a  silver  sun. 

The  lake  grew  proud  and  claimed  each  star 

That  lay  upon  her  breast; 
41  Ah  !  they  are  mine,"  she  said;  "  these  gems 
That  in  my  bosom  rest. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  97 

'  And  yonder  moon,  that  sails  on  high, 

Doth  shine  for  me  alone  ; 
Beneath  the  foam  that  crests  my  waves 
Is  built  her  silver  throne." 

A  star-king  knelt  and  kissed  the  waves 

That  swept  the  shadowed  shore ; 
'  Our  moon  is  queen  of  heaven,"  he  said, 
"  Is  queen  forevermore. 

'  A  thousand  lakes  are  hers  by  night, 

A  thousand  lakes  of  light ; 

A  thousand  rivers  kiss  her  feet, 

A  thousand  rivers  bright. 

'  Then  be  not  vain,  thou  lakelet  small, 

The  moon  is  not  for  thee  ; 

Her  home  is  in  the  river  wide, 

Her  throne  is  in  the  sea." 

The  bright  waves  swept  the  silent  shore, 

The  star-king  crept  away  ; 
Yet  calm  and  fair,  still  unconvinced, 

The  lake  in  silence  lay. 

The  moon,  that  swept  her  silvery  light 

Far  o'er  the  waters  wide, 
Belonged  to  her,  and  all  the  stars 

That  floated  side  by  side.  6 


98  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Ah!  silver  lake,  too  well  we  know 
How  like  we  are  to  thee  ; 

A  thousand  truths  are  in  the  world 
That  we  may  never  see  ! 


LIFE. 

A  dewy  flower,  bathed  in  crimson  light, 
May  touch  the  soul — a  pure  and  beauteous  sight ; 
A  golden  river  flashing  'neath  the  sun, 
May  reach  the  spot  where  life's  dark  waters  run  ; 
Yet,  when  the  sun  is  gone,  the  splendor  dies, 
With  drooping  head  the  tender  flower  lies. 
And  such  is  life ;  a  golden  mist  of  light, 
A  tangled  web  that  glitters  in  the  sun ; 
When  shadows  come,  the  glory  takes  its  flight, 
The  threads  are  dark  and  worn,  and  life  is  done. 
Oh!  tears,  that  chill  us  like  the  dews  of  eve, 
Why  come  unbid — why  should  we  ever  grieve  ? 
Why  is  it,  though  life  hath  its  leaves  of  gold, 
The  book  each  day  some  sorrow  must  unfold  ! 
What  human  heart  with  truth  can  dare  to  say 
No  grief  is  mine — this  is  a  perfect  day  ? 
Oh  !  poet,  take  your  harp  of  gold  and  sing, 
And  all  the  earth  with  heavenly  music  fill ! 
You  may  do  this,  yet  song  can  never  bring 
One  sunbeam  back,  let  song  be  what  it  will. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  99 

Oh  !  painter,  you  can  catch  the  glowing  light 
That  tints  the  skies  before  the  coming  night ; 
With  throbbing  heart  and  upward  lifted  eyes, 
You  paint  the  splendor  of  the  purple  skies  ; 
Yet  tell  me.  does  your  genius  hold  the  key 
To  life's  strange  secrets  and  its  mystery  ? 
•Oh  !  life  is  sad,  yet  sunshine,  too,  is  there  ; 
We  cannot  tell  what  spell  the  years  may  weave — 
Perchance  a  song  that  dies  upon  the  air — 
Perhaps  a  shadow  that  the  sun  doth  leave. 


A   MEMORY. 

Amid  my  treasures  once  I  found 
A  simple  faded  flower  ; 

A  flower  with  all  its  beauty  fled, 
The  darling  of  an  hour. 

With  bitterness  I  gazed  awhile, 
Then  flung  it  from  my  sight ; 

For  with  it  all  came  back  to  me 
The  pain  and  heedless  blight. 

But.  moved  with  pity  and  regret 

I  took  it  up  again  ; 
Tor  oh,  so  long  and  wearily 

In  darkness  it  had  lain. 


LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Ah,  purple  pansy,  once  I  kissed 

Your  dewy  petals  fair  ; 
For  then,  indeed,  I  had  no  thought 

Of  earthly  pain  or  care. 

Your  faded  petals  now  I  touch 

With  sacred  love  and  awe  ; 
For  never  will  my  heart  kneel  down 

To  earthly  will  or  law. 

Your  velvet  beauty  still  is  dear, 
Though  faded  now  you  seem  ; 

You  drooped  and  died,  yet  still  you  are 
The  symbol  of  my  dream. 

Sweet,  modest  flower,  tinged  with  gold,. 

A  lesson  you  have  said ; 
Your  purple  glory,  like  my  love, 

Is  faded  now,  and  dead. 


THE  BABY'S  TEAR. 

A  tiny  drop  of  crystal  dew 
That  fell  from  baby  eyes  of  blue  ; 
A  shining  treasure,  there  it  lay 
For  grandma's  love  to  wipe  away. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

A  tear  of  sorrow,  pure  and  meek 
It  graced  our  darling's  dimpled  cheek ; 
A  gem  so  fair,  that  angels  smiled 
And  claimed  the  treasure  undented. 

A  sunbeam  came  with  winsome  grace 
And  chased  the  shadow  from  her  face ; 
A  smile  fell  trom  its  wings  of  light 
And  baby  eyes  laughed  at  the  sight. 

The  wee  bright  tear  was  kissed  away, 
Yet  in  our  hearts  its  sorrow  lay ; 
For  like  a  shadow  came  the  thought, 
With  pain  and  sorrow  life  is  wrought. 

Oh,  baby  heart,  what  will  you  do 
When  life's  unrest  is  given  you ; 
And  mother-love  no  more  like  this 
Each  tear  can  banish  with  a  kiss  ? 

The  love  you  brought,  oh,  baby  dear, 
Is  like  the  sunbeam  passing  near; 
A  ray  of  light — a  touch  of  gold 
To  keep  our  hearts  from  growing  old. 

Then  may  thy  life  grow  strong  and  sweet 
With  mother-love  to  guide  thy  feet; 
And  may  the  sunbeams  ever  chase 
_Each  shadow,  darling,  from  thy  face. 


02  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

IRENE. 

The  years  are  slowly  creeping  on 

Beneath  the  summer  sun  ; 
Yet,  still  in  silent  love  and  peace 

Our  lives  serenely  run. 
Beyond  the  mist  that  veils  the  coming  years 
I  see  no  gathering  clouds,  nor  falling  tears. 

Beside  life's  river  we  have  stood 

And  lingered  side  by  side  ; 
Where  royal  roses  bloomed  and  blushed 

And  gleamed  the  lily's  pride, 

And  happily  there  we've  plucked  the  sweet  wild  flowers- 
While  heedless  passed  away  the  sunny  hours. 

Irene,  thy  sunny  face  is  lit 

With  all  the  hope  of  youth  ; 
God  grant  thy  heart  may  never  know 

Aught  but  the  purest  truth. 
Keep  in  thy  soul  its  faith  and  trusting  love 
Until  they  e'en  must  bloom  in  heaven  above. 

Beside  the  river  still  we  stay 

And  swift  the  hours  fly  by ; 
While  low  \ipon  the  fragrant  banks 

The  flowers  silent  lie. 
Yet,  far  beyond  the  mist,  our  longing  eyes 
Still  seek  the  gleaming  walls  of  paradise. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  103 

UNRECORDED. 

The  splendors  of  a  southern  sun 

Caress  the  glowing  sky  ; 
O'er  crested  waves,  the  colors  glance 

And  gleaming,  softly  die. 
A  gentle  calm  from  heaven  falls 

And  weaves  a  mystic  spell ; 
A  glowing  grace  that  charms  the  soul — 

Whose  glory  none  can  tell. 

Oh,  warm  sweet  treasures  of  a  sun 

Of  endless  fire  and  love  ; 
Those  dying  embers  are  the  flames 

From  heavenly  fires  above. 
Unto  the  water's  edge  they  creep 

And  bathe  the  seas  in  red ; 
Then  die  like  shadows  on  the  deep 

With  glory  cold  and  dead. 

A  ship — a  lone,  dark  wanderer 

Upon  the  southern  seas  , 
Speeds  like  a  white-faced  messenger 

Before  the  dying  breeze. 
Her  masts  are  tipped  with  amethyst, 

A  splendor  all  untold  ; 
A  crimson  mantle  wraps  her  round, 

Her  sails  are  made  of  gold. 


io4  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

The  light  wind  dies — she  slowly  drifts, 

Then  stops — an  idle  thing; 
While  sunset  clouds  around  her  prow 

A  dreamy  grandeur  fling. 
And  eyes  upon  her  deck  look  forth 

With  looks  of  longing  pain  ; 
A  hundred  sunsets  they  would  give 

Dear  home  to  see  again. 

But  see  !  a  shadow  as  of  night 

Spreads  o'er  the  crimson  sky ; 
Like  doomed  and  lifeless  forms  of  earth 

The  clouds  in  heaven  lie. 
A  silence  falls — the  ship  stands  still, 

A  fated  thing  of  earth  ; 
Then  like  a  child  of  sin  and  wrong 

The  storm  is  given  birth. 

Oh !  struggle  well  ye  gallant  crew 
With  storm  and  wind  and  wave  ; 

For  there  are  helpless  women  here 
.  And  children,  too,  to  save. 

Quick — sailors  do  your  duty  well — 
And  man  the  life-boats,  too ; 

For  soon  the  rocks  will  strand  the  ship, 
And  pierce  her  through  and  through. 

See !  like  a  woman  turned  to  stone 
A  weeping  mother  stands  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  105 

Her  heart  seems  like  some  frozen  thing — 

She  wrings  her  trembling  hands  ; 
Within  her  arms  she  holds  a  child 

With  frightened  wond'ring,  eyes  ; 
Below — the  waters  pitiless — 

Above — the  angry  skies. 

Beside  her  stands  a  fair  young  girl 

With  eyes  that  flash  and  quiver; 
They  are  the  only  ones  still  left, 

These  three  that  moan  and  shiver. 
But  soon  a  voice  shouts  back  the  words — 

Through  all  the  deaf'ning  roar  : — 
A  strong  hand  grasps  the  trembling  girl, 

"  There's  room  for  just  one  more." 

'  Stay,  stay,"  she  cries  with  whitened  face 

"  Why  should  I  fear  to  die  ? 
Oh,  take  this  woman  by  my  side, 

Nor  stay  to  question  why. 
She  has  a  dear  one  'mongst  your  crew, 

She  is  a  mother,  too  ; 
I  am  alone — I  fear  not  death, 

If  this  you'll  only  do." 

The  sailor  grasped  the  mother's  hand, 

She  turned  and  kissed  the  maid ; 
The  tears  of  pity  filled  her  eyes 


io6  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Yet  not  one  word  she  said. 
The  maiden  stood  with  outstretched  hands,. 

All  hope  indeed  was  gone ; 
And  yet  she  stood  with  fearless  heart, 

Undaunted  and  alone. 

"  Oh,  God,  the  heart  that  knows  your  love 

Will  never  need  to  fear.; 
A  priceless  gem  lies  on  my  face, 

The  mother's  grateful  tear." 
The  lightnings  swept  across  the  ship, 

The  darkness  wrapped  her  round ; 
Above  the  thunder  of  the  storm, 

There  came  no  other  sound. 

The  morning  broke — the  storm  had  fledr 

The  wreck  was  washed  away  ; 
And  calmly  now  as  yesterday 

The  sea  in  splendor  lay. 
The  noble  heart  that  throbbed  with  life 

Lay  fathoms  deep  below : 
And  what  lies  buried  in  that  heart 

The  waves  alone  can  know. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  107 

BEATRICE  CENCI. 

O  beautiful  woman,  too  well  we  know 
The  terrible  weight  of  thy  woman's  woe, 
So  great  that  the  world,  in  its  careless  way, 
Remembered  thy  beauty  for  more  than  a  day. 
In  the  name  of  the  truth  from  thy  brow  is  torn 
The  crown  of  redemption  thou  long  hast  worn, 
And  into  the  valley  of  sin  thou  art  hurled 
To  be  trampled  anew  by  the  feet  of  the  world. 

The  beautiful  picture  is  thine  no  more 
That  hangs  in  the  palace  on  Italy's  shore; 
The  tear-stained  eyes  where  the  shadow  lies, 
Like  a  darksome  cloud  in  the  summer  skies, 
Will  tell  thy  story  to  men  no  more, 
For  all  untrue  is  the  tale  of  yore  ; 
And  the  far-famed  picture  that  hangs  on  the  wall 
Is  a  painter's  fancy — that  is  all. 

Italia's  shore  is  a  land  of  light 

Where  the  sunlight  of  day  drowns  the  shadows  of  night ;. 

And  the  great  warm  sun  with  his  golden  rays 

Imprisons  the  light  of  eternal  days ; 

But  the  tale  of  thy  woes  is  a  shadow  there 

That  fills  with  its  horror  the  perfumed  air. 

By  day  and  by  night  in  the  palace  there, 
Tliy  picture  has  hung  with  its  face  so  fair ; 


io8  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Beguiling  the  travelers  come  from  afar 

With  its  sad,  sweet  grace,  like  some  voiceless  star, 

Till  the  hearts  that  shuddered  before  thy  sin 

Recalled  not  the  shadow  that  lay  within, 

But  remembered  only  with  pitying  grace 

The  hopeless  grief  on  the  child-like  face. 

The  rosy  dawn  with  its  misty  light, 
Shone  fair  on  thy  brow  in  the  morning  bright ; 
And  the  glittering  noon  with  its  rays  of  gold 
Imprisoned  thy  soul  in  its  jewelled  hold. 

Oh,  fair  was  the  picture  at  early  dawn, 
With  the  matchless  beauty  that  Guide  had  drawn; 
And  fair  was  the  face  in  the  noon  of  gold, 
Touched  with  a  glory   that  never  grew  old. 

But  lovelier  still  in  the  shadowed  eyes 
Lay  the  burning  sunset  of  Italy's  skies ; 
And  the  beautiful  face  with  its  voiceless  woe 
Grew  fair  as  a  saint's  in  the  crimson  glow. 
No  wonder  the  poets  grew  wild  at  the  sight, 
And  sung  of  thy  beauty  with  mad  delight, 
Till  the  fame  of  the  picture  spread  over  the  land, 
Revealing  the  touch  of  its  master-hand. 

The  fair  Madonna  with  saint-like  face, 
•Creation  of  Raphael's  exquisite  grace, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Is  scarcely  more  famed  than  the  child-like  head 
Of  them  to  whom  sorrow  forever  is  wed. 
O  beautiful  woman,  the  world  with  its  scorn 
Will  mock  at  the  glory  thou  long  hast  worn, 
And  rend  aside  in  the  name  of  the  truth 
The  veil  of  mercy  that  hides  thy  youth. 
But  the  romance  that  clings.to  the  wondrous  face 
Will  fall  on  our  hearts  with  a  softened  grace, 
And  the  fair  young  sinner  on  Italy's  shore 
Will  be  loved  and  pitied  forevermore. 


UNDER  THE  STARS. 

Under  the  stars,  when  the  shadows  fall, 

Under  the  stars  of  night ; 
What  is  so  fair  as  the  jewelled  crown 
Of  the  azure  skies,  when  the  sun  is  down, 
Beautiful  stars  of  light ! 

Under  the  stars,  where  the  daisies  lie 
Lifeless  beneath  the  snow ; 

Lovely  and  pure,  they  have  lived  a  day, 

Silently  passing  forever  away, 
Lying  so  meek  and  low. 

Under  the  stars  in  the  long-ago — 
Under  the  stars  to-night ; 


109 


LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Life  is  the  same,  with  its  great  unrest 
Wearily  throbbing  within  each  breast, 
Searching  for  truth  and  light. 

Under  the  stars  as  they  drift  along, 

Far  in  the  azure  seas ; 
Beautiful  treasures  of  light  and  song, 
Glad'ning   the   earth   as   they    glide    along, 

What  is  so  fair  as  these  ? 

Under  the  stars  in  the  quiet  night, 

Under  the  stars  above  ; 
Sweet  is  the  breath  of  the  evening  air, 
Spirits  of  heaven  unseen  are  there, 

Weaving  a  web  of  love. 

Under  the  stars  in  the  shadowy  eve, 

Glittering  stars  of  truth  ; 
Beautiful  sprays  of  eternal  light, 
Laid  on  the  brow  of  the  dusky  night, 

Blossoms  of  fadeless  youth. 


CATCHING  THE  SUNBEAMS. 

Catching  the  sunbeams,  oh,  wee  dimpled  child, 
Gleefully  laughing  because  they  are  bright ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS, 

Knowing,  ah !  never,  my  beautiful  pet, 
Ne'er  can  our  fingers  imprison  the  light. 


Beautiful  sunshine,  oh  !  fair  is  the  light 
Falling  on  earth  from  the  heavens  above  ; 

Beautiful  childhood,  oh  !  glad  is  the  sight 
Filling  fhe  world  with  its  measure  of  love. 

Playing  with  sunbeams,  oh,  all  of  us,  pet, 
Toy  with  the  treasures,  so  shining  and  bright ; 

Catching  the  sunshine  we  never  may  hold, 
Trying,  like  you,  to  imprison  the  light. 

Sunbeams  that  glitter  and  sparkle  and  shine — 
Life  is  so  full  of  the  beautiful  light ; 

Gilding  the  wings  of  each  fleet-footed  day 
Only  to  fade  in  the  shadows  of  night. 

Playing  with  sunbeams,  oh !  all  of  us,  pet, 
Long  for  the  treasures  so  shining  and  glad ; 

Finding  too  late  that  they  slip  from  our  hands, 
Leaving  us  heart-sick  and  weary  and  sad. 

Learning  the  lessons  we  never  will  heed — 
Life  is  so  full  of  the  things  that  we  crave ; 

•Catching  the  sunshine  oh,  darling,  each  heart 
Longs  for  the  sunbeams  till  it  reaches  the  grave. 


ii2  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  GRAVE. 

[To  the  memory  of  Lieut.  Wm.  \V.  Wardell,  of  the  First  Massa- 
chusetts Cavalry,  killed  May  28,  1864.] 

Above  his  head  the  cypress  waves 

Its  dark  green  drooping  leaves  ; 
The  sunlight  through  its  branches  wide 
Where  bright  birds  linger  side  by  side 

A  golden  net-work  weaves. 

Within  the  church-yard's  silent  gloom 

He  lies  in  quiet  rest ; 
And  never  more  to  cold,  pale  brow, 
Or  proud  lips  mute  with  silence  now 

Will  loving  lips  be  pressed. 

Perhaps  even  now  in  death's  dark  dream 

,  He  sees  the  deadly  strife ; 
Where  brothers  fought  with  blinded  eyes, 
Forgetting  all  the  tender  ties 

That  bound  them  life  to  life. 

Ah  !  nobly  there  he  proudly  rode 

With  honest,  warm,  true  heart; 
And  shrank  not  from  the  carnage  red, 
But  bravely  there,  among  the  dead, 

He  took  a  soldier's  part. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  113 

Yet  soon  his  hands  fell  helplessly, 

Low  at  his  trembling  side  ; 
For  on  his  brow  the  death  drops  rose, 
While  in  his  heart  the  life-blood  froze 

And  died  his  young  life's  pride. 

The  dark  brown  eyes,  whose  loving  glance 

Gave  happiness  to  all, 
Have  closed  their  weary  lids  for  aye 
Beneath  the  sunset  of  life's  day, 

Where  dark'ning  shadows  fall. 

Oh,  weary  years  that  still  creep  on 

Adown  the  sands  of  Time, 
Give  back  the  loving  tones  of  yore, 
That  haunt  us  here  forever  more. 

As  echoing  church  bell's  chime. 

And  yet  it  cannot,  cannot  be 

That  hearts  must  ever  grieve  ; 
Above  his  head  the  shadows  fall, 
Yet  still  the  sunbeams  shine  through  all 

And  mystic  splendors  weave. 

And  thus  upon  the  grieving  heart 

That  ever  weeps  for  him, 
The  dark  clouds  fall,  yet  God's  sweet  light 
Of  faith  still  onward  takes  its  flight, 

Through  shadows  vast  and  grim.  7 


ii4  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Oh !  faint  heart,  with  thy  clinging  grief, 

Look  upward  to  the  sky ; 
For  there,  beyond  the  weary  strife, 
Where  angels  ever  guard  thy  life, 
There's  One  who  hears  thy  cry. 

Within  the  "  City  of  the  Dead  " 

He  only  lies  asleep  ; 
And  soon  his  hand  will  clasp  once  more 
Thine  own  as  oft  he  did  of  yore, 

With  love's  pure  feeling  deep. 


BEYOND  THE  SUNSET  ARE  THE  HILLS  OF  GOD. 

Gleaming  folds  of  red  and  gold  linger  in  the  western  sky  ; 
Fleecy  clouds  of  purest  tint,  mingle  with  the  purple  dye. 

Faintly  to  the  dreamy  mind  comes  the  sound  of  earthly  life  ; 
Far  beyond  the   shining  banks,  cometh  rest   from  worldly 
strife. 

Through  the  sunset's  misty  veil,  now  we  look  with  longing 
eyes, 

To  behold  more  beauteous  sight  than  the  evening's  glori- 
ous skies. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  n5 

'Slowly  now  the  red  banks  part,  showing  what  is  hidden  there ; 
Flashing  hills  of  shadowy  light,  piercing  through  the  dark- 
'ning  air. 

Like  the  rainbow's  promise  clear,  God  has  placed  His  em- 
blem there, 
Giving  life  and  trust  to  all,  love  unbounded,  rich  and  rare. 

Glimpses  of  a  life  beyond  come  to  each  faint,  weary  heart, 
And  we  long  for  that  bright  shore  where  the  loved  ones 
ne'er  shall  part. 

Strange,  that  souls  should  still  live  on,  hopeless  with  their 

hidden  pain  ; 
When,  would  they  but  read  the  skies,  heaven  and  hope 

would  come  again. 

Though  the  life  be  weary  spent,  evening  brings  the  glory 

near ; 
And  beyond  the  sunset's  glow,  grand  the  hills  of  God  appear. 


NEVER. 

Two  dark-brown  eyes  looked  into  mine 
Two  eyes  with  restless  quiver ; 

A  gentle  hand  crept  in  my  own 
Beside  the  gleaming  river. 


n6  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

"  Ah,  sweet,"  I  murmured,  passing  sad, 

You  will  forget  me  ever  ?  " 
The  dear,  brown  eyes  their  answer  gave ; 
"  I  will  forget  you  never" 

Up  in  the  leaves  above  our  heads 

The  winds  were  softly  dying  ; 
Down  in  the  river  at  our  feet 

The  lilies  pale  were  lying. 
The  winds  their  mournful  murmur  sent : 

You  will  forget  me  ever  ? 
The  lilies  raised  their  drooping  heads  : 

We  will  forget  you  never. 

A  spell  hung  o'er  the  numbered  hours 

That  chained  each  thought  and  feeling  ; 
My  heart  was  filled  with  idle  dreams 

That  sent  my  senses  reeling. 
Once  more  I  murmured,  "Well,  I  know 

You  will  forget  me  ever ;  " 
Yet  still  the  same  dear  promise  came, 

"  I  will  forget  you  never" 

Ah,  vain  the  words  that  we  must  speak, 
Though  we  are  still  believing; 

And  subtle  are  the  webs  of  fate 
That  love  is  ever  weaving  ; 

The  dark  brown  eyes  meet  mine  no  more,. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  117 

I  am  forgotten  ever ; 
And  mocking  memory  echoes  now, 
I  will  forget  you  never. 

Beside  the  idle  stream  I  stand, 

Where  flowers  droop  and  shiver- 
And  cold  and  dark  it  seems  to  me 

This  dreary,  restless  river ;    * 
For,  sweet,  your  eyes  are  lost  to  me, 

I  am  forgotten  ever; 
And  only  memory  echoes  now, 

"I  will  forget  you  never. " 


THE  MISSISSIPPI. 

Where  is  the  bard,  O  river  grand  and  old, 
That  has  thy  praises  sung,  thy  beauties  told, 
In  measures  lofty  as  the  mighty  pride 
That  lingers  in  thy  deep  and  flowing  tide  ? 
And  where  the  echoing  measures  low  and  sweet 
That  should  thine  own  faint  rippling  songs  repeat  ? 

The  eyes  of  nature  ever  turned  on  thee 
Watch  o'er  thy  restless  wandering  to  the  sea ; 
The  rosy  morn  awakes  thee  from  thy  sleep ; 
Along  thy  dusky  waves  her  glances  creep, 


n8  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  o'er  the  weird  dark  shadows  of  the  night 
She  spreads  her  sunny  robes  of  morning  light. 

The  yellow  noon  comes  too,  with  fiery  eyes, 
And  all  unwept  the  dewy  morning  dies  ; 
Thy  waters  run  in  waves  of  rippling  gold, 
And  all  the  rivers  sacred  deemed  of  old 
Are  not  so  grand  as  thee,  nor  yet  so  fair. 
Amid  the  mists  that  fill  the  evening  air 
The  sun  droops  low  his  golden  head  and  dies, 
Yet  in  thy  depths  his  last  glance  ling'ring  lies 
And  lights  it  with  a  royal  purple  glow  ; 
Anon  into  a  splendor  falling  low 
Of  crimson  stains  and  gleams  of  molten  gold 
It  changes,  like  great  waves  of  fire  rolled 
Across  the  sky. 

The  moon  caresses  thee 
With  rays  of  silver  light  as  to  the  sea 
Thy  dark  waves  glide  ;  and  shadows  long  and  wide 
Reflect  grim  images  within  thy  tide. 
Pale  stars  that  wander  through  the  trackless  skies 
All  night,  glance  in  thy  depths  with  glowing  eyes, 
And  like  a  stream  of  silver  flecked  with  gold 
Thy  waters  run. 

O  river,  proud  and  old, 

From  snow-bound  shores  thy  dark  waves  loosened  i 
To  mingle  with  the  waters  of  the  sun ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  lo  !  from  North  and  South,  from  East  and  West, 
Companions  come  to  aid  thee  in  thy  quest. 

Along  thy  shores  great  cities  stately  stand, 
Sprung  up  beneath  thy  kindly  welcoming  hand; 
Proud  commerce  lives  upon  thy  sweeping  tide 
And  palaces  upon  thy  bosom  glide. 

O  Mississippi,  monarch  of  the  West, 
What  daring  hand  can  quell  thy  proud  unrest  ? 
What  human  pen  can  paint  thee  as  thou  art, 
The  loved,  the  pride  of  every  free-born  heart  ? 
Thou  symbol  of  a  nation  strong  and  free, 
Whose  throne  is  on  the  land  and  on  the  sea  ! 
What  power  is  thine,  what  might  is  unto  thee  ! 
Though  men  shall  die,  thy  waters  still  will  be. 


THE  PRINCE  IMPERIAL. 

Under  the  cross  in  the  Southern  skies, 
Where  the  beautiful  night  like  a  shadow  lies, 
A  fair  young  life  went  out  in  the  light 
To  wake  no  more  in  the  star-crowned  night. 

Beautiful  visions  of  life  were  his, 
Visions  of  triumph  and  fame ; 


LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Longing  for  glory  that  he  might  be 
Worthy  to  wear  his  name. 

Brave  was  his  heart  as  he  sailed  away 

Under  the  Northern  sky ; 
Leaving  behind  him  all  that  he  loved — 

Stilling  his  heart's  wild  cry. 

Proudly  his  mother,  with  royal  pride, 

Stifled  her  last  regret ; 
Steeling  her  heart — but  her  dream  was  vain 

For  the  star  of  his  race  was  set. 

Surely  the  moon  as  he  slept  at  night 

Whispered  his  doom  on  high  ; 
Surely  the  waves  in  their  rocky  beds 

Mourned  as  he  passed  them  by. 

For  never  again  in  the  dusky  night 
Would  the  prince  go  sailing  by ; 

Weaving  his  dreams  with  a  boyish  pride 
Under  the  shadowy  sky. 

Silent  and  cold  in  the  morn  he  lay, 

Slain  by  a  ruthless  hand  ! 
Never  to  wake  with  his  fearless  eyes — 

Never  again  to  command. 

Imperial  mother — too  well  we  know 
The  speechless  depths  of  her  awful  woe ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

For  the  bright  young  life  into  Eternity  hurled 
Was  her  only  link  to  a  sad,  dark  world. 

But  mothers  kneel  in  the  silent  night 
To  whisper  a  prayer  to  the  Throne  of  Light, 
For  the  beautiful  woman  whose  head  lies  low, 
Crushed  'neath  the  weight  of  its  crown  of  woe. 

From  sun  to  shadow  her  life  has  swayed 
Like  some  wild  rose  in  a  mountain  glade ; 
But  the  storms  have  won,  and  the  blossom  lies 
Forever  broken — no  more  to  rise. 


ON  THE  LAKE. 

There's  a  beautiful  lake  where  the  sun  lies  low, 
And  the  skies  are  warm  with  their  summer  glow ; 
And  a  beautiful  picture  there  I  see 
Where  the  winds  are  warm  and  the  waves  are  free, 

And  the  waves  lie  still  in  the  sun 
As  the  flowers  at  night,  when  the  day  is  done. 

You  may  sing  of  your  silvery  seas  by  night 
When  the  moon  looks  down  with  a  dreamy  light ; 
And  the  stars  shine  out  in  the  skies  above 
Like  the  warm  sweet  gaze  of  the  eyes  of  love ; 


LOVE  OR  FAME. 

But  the  glow  on  the  lake  to-day 
Is  a  glory  that  never  will  fade  away. 

The  beautiful  lake  is  a  sea  of  gold 
And  the  beauty  it  wears  will  never  grow  old ; 
The  trees  bend  down  in  the  sun's  warm  glow- 
Till  their  branches  meet  in  the  waves  below, 
And  the  clouds  in  the  far-off  skies 
Are  mirrored  anew  where  the  sunlight  lies. 

I  love  to  float  where  the  shadows  lie 
'Neath  the  matchless  glow  of  the  summer  sky  7 
And  I  love  to  dream  that  these  waves  of  light 
Will  never  fade  in  the  gloomy  night : 

But  I  know  that  the  things  I  love 
Are  as  far  from  my  reach  as  the  clouds  above. 

Oh,  the  beautiful  lake  is  a  sea  of  gold 
And  the  beauty  it  wears  will  never  grow  old ; 
The  cloudlets  of  Heaven  are  mirrored  there 
In  a  golden  splendor  so  bright  and  fair 

That  the  soul  is  dazzled  for  aye 
By  the  beautiful  light  of  this  summer's  day. 

Oh,  I  love  to  dream  when  this  life  is  o'er 
We  shall  moor  our  boats  near  the  golden  shore ; 
And  our  sorrows  shall  drift  from  us  far  away 
As  the  leaves  that  float  in  their  idle  play, 

And  the  waves  shall  smile  in  the  sun 
When  the  night  is  over  and  life  is  done. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  1 

BEYOND. 

Beyond  yon  dim  old  mountain's  shadowy  height, 

The  restless  sun  droops  low  his  grand  old  face ; 
While  downward  sweeps  the  trembling  veil  of  night, 

To  hide  the  earth ;  the  frost  king's  filmy  lace 
Rests  on  the  mountain's  hoary  snow-crowned  head, 

And  adds  to  it  a  softened  grace  ;  the  light 
Which  dies  afar  in  faint  and  fading  red 

In  purple  shadows  circles  near. 

The  flight 
Of  birds  across  the  vast  and  silent  plains 

Awakes  the  echoes  of  the  sleeping  earth ; 
Of  all  the  summer  beauty  naught  remains, 

There  come  no  tidings  of  the  spring's  glad  birth. 

Beyond  the  valley  and  the  far-off  height 

The  birds  in  wandering  do  take  their  way ; 
Ah,  whither  is  their  strange  and  trackless  flight 

Amid  the  dying  embers  of  the  day ; 
Into  the  clouds  that  seek  to  veil  the  sun 

They  seem  to  float  on  strange  bright  wings  of  fire;. 
Beyond  the  shades  that  tell  us  day  is  done 

They  soar  on  spirit  wings  that  never  tire. 

Ah,  strange,  strange  mysteries  indeed  are  these; 
To  watch  the  sunlight  fade  and  die  away, 


T24  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

To  hear  the  whispering  of  the  dark  pine  trees, 
To  see  the  deepening  shadows  'round  us  play. 

And  then  to  feel  that  all  that  'round  us  lies 
Is  e'en  beyond  the  knowledge  of  the  soul. 

We  seek  to  grasp  the  truth,  it  quickly  flies 
And  leaves  us  full  of  doubt. 

Around  us  roll 
The  spheres  that  light  the  way  to  heaven's  shore, 

And  soon  their  lights  will  brighten  all  the  sky ; 
And  yet  we  dare  not  read  their  mystic  lore 

But  only  stand  and  wait  and  wonder  why, 
Beyond,  beyond  in  deep  mysterious  space 

They  wander  through  the  darkness  all  the  night, 
Each  one  within  its  own  allotted  place. 

The  stars'  dim  course,  the  birds'  lone  dreamy  flight. 
Will  ever  fill  our  souls  with  doubt  and  fear. 

We  walk  upon  life's  unknown  shadowy  shore 
With  wandering  steps,  while  through  the  heavens  clear 

The  stars  their  music  sing  forevermore. 


A  SONNET. 

Sweet  summer  queen,  with  trailing  robe  of  green, 
What  spell  hast  thou  to  bind  the  heart  to  thee  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Thy  throne  is  built  upon  the  sun-lit  sea, 

Where  break  the  waves  in  clouds  of  silver  sheen 

And  oft  at  dawn  like  some  resplendent  queen, 

Thou  sittest  on  the  hills  in  majesty  ; 

And  all  the  flowers  wake  at  thy  decree. 

But  now  farewell  to  all  thy  joys  serene  ; 

The  autumn  comes  with  swift-winged,  silent  flight, 

And  he  will  woo  thee  with  his  fiery  breath  ; 

In  crimson  robes  and  hues  of  flashing  gold 

He'll  clothe  thee,  and  thy  beauty  in  the  night 

Will  take  a  richer  glow.     But  wintry  death 

Will  come  and  wrap  thee  in  his  fold. 


UNDER  THE  SEA. 

Under  the  sea,  the  great  wide  sea 
That  sweeps  the  golden  shore  ; 
What  treasures  lie  beneath  the  waves 
Forever  more ! 

Ask  of  the  winds,  the  sobbing  winds 

That  toss  the  waves  on  high  ; 
And  fling  the  burden  of  their  song 
Unto  the  sky. 

Ask  of  the  stars,  the  jewelled  stars 
That  sleep  within  the  tide; 


i26  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Like  golden  lilies  floating  far, 

And  swinging  wide. 

Ask  of  the  clouds  that  drift  at  noon 

In  fadeless  seas  of  blue, 
And  looking  down  see  skies  beneath 
Of  deeper  hue. 

Up  in  the  sky,  the  golden  clouds 

Will  never  make  reply  ; 
Deep  in  the  sea,  the  jewelled  stars 
In  silence  lie. 

Under  the  sea,  the  great  wide  sea 
That  sweeps  the  golden  shore, 
Are  secrets  hidden  from  us  now 
And  evermore. 


THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW. 

Low  at  my  feet  there  lies  to-night 

A  crushed  and  withered  rose ; 
Within  its  heart  of  fading  red 

No  crimson  fire  glows ; 
For  o'er  its  leaves  the  frost  of  death 

Steals  like  an  icy  breath; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  127 

And  soon  't  will  vanish  from  my  sight, 
A  thing  of  gloom  and  death. 

Ah!  beauteous  flower,  once  thou  wert 

My  pleasure  and  my  pride  ; 
And  now  when  thou  art  old  and  worn 

I  will  not  turn  aside ; 
But  gently  o'er  thy  faded  leaves 

I'll  shed  one  kindly  tear ; 
That  thou  wilt  know,  though  dead  and  gone, 

To  memory  thou  art  dear. 

Before  my  gaze  there  lies  to-night 

A  rose-bud  fresh  and  fair; 
And  like  the  breath  of  dewy  morn 

Its  fragrance  scents  the  air. 
This  fragile  flower  I  fain  would  pluck 

With  hand  most  kind  yet  bold  ; 
And  watch  its  petals  day  by  day 

Their  shining  wealth  unfold. 

And  soon  'twill  be  my  very  own 

To  keep  forevermore : 
This  flower  that  bloomed  for  me  alone 

Upon  a  heavenly  shore. 
God  grant  my  hands  may  guard  it  well 

And  keep  it  pure  and  fair ; 
For  angel  hands  have  gathered  it 

And  placed  it  in  my  care. 


i28  LOVE   OR  FAME. 

Then  fare  thee  well,  thou  dying  year, 

Thou  art  my  withered  rose; 
And  on  the  stem  where  once  thou  wert, 

Another  flower  grows ; 
Yet  fear  thee>  not,  when  thou  art  dead, 

To  thee  I'll  still  be  true ; 
And  'mid  the  joys  of  other  years 

I  still  will  think  of  you. 


EASTER. 

Let  all  the  flowers  wake  to  life ; 

Let  all  the  songsters  sing  ; 
Let  everything  that  lives  on  earth 

Become  a  joyous  thing. 

Wake  up,  thou  pansy,  purple-eyed, 
And  greet  the  dewy  spring  ; 

Swell  out,  ye  buds,  and  o'er  the  earth 
Thy  sweetest  fragrance  fling. 

Why  dost  thou  sleep,  sweet  violet  ? 

The  earth  has  need  of  thee ; 
Wake  up  and  catch  the  melody 

That  sounds  from  sea  to  sea. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  129 

Ye  stars,  that  dwell  in  noonday  skies, 

Shine  on,  though  all  unseen ; 
The  great  White  Throne  lies  just  beyond, 

The  stars  are  all  between. 


Ring  out,  ye  bells,  sweet  Easter  bells, 

And  ring  the  glory  in  ; 
Ring  out  the  sorrow,  born  of  earth — 

Ring  out  the  stains  of  sin. 

O  banners  wide,  that  sweep  the  sky, 

Unfurl  ye  to  the  sun ; 
And  gently  wave  above  the  graves 

Of  those  whose  lives  are  done. 

Let  peace  be  in  the  hearts  that  mourn- 
Let  "  Rest "  be  in  the  grave ; 

The  Hand  that  swept  these  lives  away 
Hath  power  alone  to  save. 

Ring  out,  ye  bells,  sweet  Easter  bells, 

And  ring  the  glory  in ; 
Ring  out  the  sorrow,  born  of  earth — 

Ring  out  the  stains  of  sin. 


1 30  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

MAY. 

The  world  is  full  of  gems  to-day, 

The  world  is  full  of  love  ; 
The  earth  is  strewn  with  star-gemmed  flowers 

That  fall  from  skies  above. 

The  sunshine  is  a  stream  of  gold 
That  flows  from  flower  to  flower; 

The  shadows  are  but  passing  thoughts 
That  mark  each  shining  hour. 

The  pansy  nods  her  purple  head, 

And  sings  a  silent  song ; 
Her  life  is  full  of  sunny  hours — 

The  days  are  never  long. 

The  rose  uplifts  her  sun-crowned  head ; 

She  is  the  queen  of  love ; 
Her  eyes  behold  the  hidden  stars 

That  glow  in  skies  above. 

There  is  a  fragrance  in  the  air, 

A  glory  in  the  sky  ; 
Oh,  who  would  sigh  for  other  days, 

Or  grieve  for  things  gone  by  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  131 

SUMMER  RAIN. 

Oh,  what  is  so  pure  as  the  glad  summer  rain, 
That  falls  on  the  grass  where  the  sunlight  has  lain  ? 
And  what  is  so  fair  as  the  flowers  that  lie' 
All  bathed  in  the  tears  of  the  soft  summer  sky  ? 

The  blue  of  the  heavens  is  dimmed  by  the  rain 
That  wears  away  sorrow  and  washes  out  pain ; 
But  we  know  that  the  flowers  we  cherish  would  die 
Were  it  not  for  the  tears  of  the  cloud-laden  sky. 

The  rose  is  the  sweeter -when  kissed  by  the  rain, 
And  hearts  are  the  dearer  where  sorrow  has  lain ; 
The  sky  is  the  fairer  that  rain-clouds  have  swept, 
And  no  eyes  are  so  bright  as  the  eyes  that  have  wept. 

Oh,  they  are  so  happy,  these  flowers  that  die, 
They  laugh  in  the  sunshine,  oh,  why  cannot  I  ? 
They  droop  in  the  shadow,  they  smile  in  the  sun, 
Yet  they  die  in  the  winter  when  summer  is  done. 

The  lily  is  lovely,  and  fragrant  her  breath, 

But  the  beauty  she  wears  is  the  emblem  of  death ; 

The  rain  is  so  fair  as  it  falls  on  the  flowers, 

But  the  clouds  are  the  shadows  of  sunnier  hours. 

Why  laugh  in  the  sunshine,  why  smile  in  the  rain  ? 
The  world  is  a  shadow  and  life  is  a  pain  ; 


132  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

Why  live  in  the  summer,  why  dream  in  the  sun, 
To  die  in  the  winter,  when  summer  is  done  ? 

Oh,  there  is  the  truth  that  each  life  underlies, 
That  baffles  the  poets  and  sages  so  wise ; 
Ah !  there  is  the  bitter  that  lies  in  the  sweet 
As  we  gather  the  roses  that  bloom  at  our  feet. 

Oh,  flowers  forgive  me,  I'm  willful  to-day, 
Oh,  take  back»the  lesson  you  gave  me  I  pray;. 
For  I  slept  in  the  sunshine,  I  woke  in  the  rain 
And  it  banished  forever  my  sorrow  and  pain. 

SEPTEMBER. 

Oh,  soon  the  forests  all  will  boast 

A  crown  of  red  and  gold  ; 
A  purple  haze  will  circle  round 

The  mountains  dim  and  old ; 
Afar  the  hills,  now  green  and  fair, 

Their  sombre  robes  will  wear; 
A  mist-like  veil  will  dim  the  sun 

And  linger  on  the  air. 

Already  seems  the  earth  half  sad  • 
The  summer-child  is  dead; 

And  who  can  tell  the  dreams  gone  by, 
The  tales  of  life  unsaid? 


MIS  CELLANE  O  US  P  OEMS. 

September  is  a  glowing  time ; 

A  month  of  happy  hours ; 
Yet  in  its  crimson  heart  lies  hid 

The  frost  that  kills  the  flowers. 

Life,  too,  may  feel  the  glory  near 

And  wear  its  crown  of  gold ; 
Yet  are  the  snows  not  nearest  then  ? 

Are  hearts  not  growing  old  ? 
September  is  the  prime  of  life, 

The  glory  of  the  year ; 
Yet  when  the  leaves  begin  to  fall 

The  winter  must  be  near. 


OCTOBER. 

I  would  not  ask  thee  back,  fair  May, 

With  all  your  bright-eyed  flowers ; 
Nor  would  I  welcome  April  days 

With  all  their  laughing  showers  ; 
For  each  bright  season  of  the  year 

Can  claim  its  own  sweet  pleasures ; 
And  we  must  take  them  as  they  come — 

These  gladly-given  treasures. 


i34  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

There's  music  in  the  rain  that  falls 

In  bright  October  weather ; 
And  we  must  learn  to  love  them  both — 

The  sun  and  rain  together. 
A  mist  is  'round  the  mountain-tops 

Of  gold-encircled  splendor ; 
A  dreamy  spell  is  in  the  air 

Of  beauty  sad  and  tender. 


The  winter  hath  not  wooed  her  yet, 

This  fair  October  maiden  ; 
And  she  is  free  to  wander  still 

With  fruits  and  flowers  laden. 
She  shakes  the  dew-drops  from  her  hair 

In  one  swift,  golden  shower; 
And  all  the  woods  are  filled  with  light 

That  gilds  each  autumn  flower. 

But  soon  the  frost-king's  icy  breath 

Will  chill  her  laughing  beauty; 
And  she  will  waken  in  the  dusk 

Unto  a  sterner  duty. 
Ah !  life  is  full  of  days  like  these, 

Of  da^s  too  bright  to  perish  ; 
Yet  death,  like  winter,  claims  too  oft 

The  things  we  most  would  cherish. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  135 

FALLING  LEAVES. 

There  was  a  sound  of  music  low — 

An  undertone  of  laughter ; 
The  song  was  done,  and  can't  you  guess 

The  words  that  followed  after  ? 

Like  autumn  leaves  sometimes  they  fall — 

The  words  that  burn  and  falter ; 
And  is  it  true  they  too  must  fade 

Upon  Love's  sacred  altar? 

From  memory  each  one  of  us 

Can  cull  some  sweetest  treasure ; 
Yet  golden  days,  like  golden  leaves,  • 

Give  pain  as  well  as  pleasure. 

There  was  a  sound  of  music  low — 

An  undertone  of  laughter: 
The  sun  was  gone — yet  heaven  knew 

The  stars  that  followed  after. 


AUTUMN  FLOWERS. 

O  crimson-tinted  flowers 
That  live  when  others  die, 


136  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

What  thoughtless  hand  unloving 
Could  ever  pass  you  by  ? 

You  are  the  last  bright  blossoms, 
The  summer's  after-glow, 

When  all  her  early  children 
Have  faded  long  ago. 

Sweet  golden-rod  and  xenia 

And  crimson  marigold, 
What  dreams  of  autumn  splendor 

Your  velvet  leaves  unfold. 

Long,  long  ago  the  violets 

Have  closed  their  sweet  blue  eyes, 

And  lain  with  pale,  dead  faces 
Beneath  the  summer  skies. 

And  on  their  graves  you  blossom 
With  leaves  of  gold  and  red, 

And  yet — how  soon  forever 
Your  beauty  will  be  fled. 

The  frost  will  come  to  kill  you, 
The  snows  will  wrap  you  round  ; 

And  you  will  sleep  forgotten 
Upon  the  frozen  ground. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  137 

Your  tints  are  like  the  beauty 

The  sunlight  leaves  behind, 
And  deep  and  full  of  sadness 

The  thoughts  you  bring  to  mind. 

Dear  memories  of  the  summer  ! 

Sweet  tokens  of  the  past ! 
You  are  the  fairest  flowers 

Because  vou  are  the  last. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

Why  should  we  dream  of  days  gone  by  ? 

Why  should  we  wait  and  wonder  ? 
Sweet  summer  days  have  come  and  gone, 

The  leaves  are  falling  yonder. 

The  wee  sweet  flowers  we  loved  the  best, 
The  king  of  frost  has  chosen  ; 

And  now  the  sun  looks  sadly  down 
Upon  his  darlings  frozen. 

Ah !  summer  sun  and  autumn  frost, 

You  are  at  war  forever  ; 
For  all  the  ties  that  one  would  make 

The  other  fain  would  sever. 


138  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

With  autumn  days  remembrance  comes 
Of  golden  glories  fleeting ; 

Of  pleasures  gone  and  sorrows  come — 
Of  parting  and  of  meeting. 

Oh  !  summer  days,  why  haunt  us  still? 

Remembrance  is  a  sorrow; 
And  all  the  dreams  we  dream  to-day 

Will  fade  upon  the  morrow. 

Each  life  has  some  sweet  summer-time, 
Some  perfect  day  of  beauty  ; 

When  flowers  of  love  and  leaves  of  hope 
Are  twined  around  each  duty. 

But  oh  !  the  autumn-time  will  come, 
When  fades  each  golden  glory ; 

And  life,  when  we  are  old  and  gray, 
Seems  but  a  sad,  old  story. 


WINTER  FLOWERS. 

The  summer  queen  has  many  flowers 

To  deck  her  sunny  hair, 
And  trailing  grasses,  pure  and  sweet, 

To  scent  the  heavy  air ; 
And  upward  through  the  misty  sky 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  139 

There  is  a  glory,  too, 
Of  floating  clouds  and  rifts  of  gold 
And  depths  of  smiling  blue. 

Yet  winter,  too,  can  boast  a  wealth 

Of  'flowers  pure  and  white ; 
A  kingly  crown  of  frosted  gems — 

A  wreath  of  sparkling  light ; 
So  bright  and  beautiful,  indeed, 

It  were  a  wondrous  sight 
To  see  a  world  of  fragile  flowers 

Sprung  up  within  a  night. 

And  sometimes  there  are  cast'es,  too, 

Of  glittering  ice  and  snow, 
Piled  high  upon  our  window-panes 

'Neath  curtains  hanging  low ; 
And  they  are  like  the  castles  fair 

Our  day-dreams  build  for  aye ; 
A  frozen  mist  that  one  warm  breath 

May  quickly  drive  away. 

And  yet,  how  beautiful  they  are, 

These  flowers  of  our  breath  ; 
That  bloom  when  not  a  leaf  is  left 

To  mourn  the  summer's  death. 
And  oh  !  how  wondrous  are  the  things 

That  God  has  given  the  earth ; 


i4o  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

The  day  that  brings  to  one  a  death 
Smiles  on  another's  birth. 


SNOW-FLAKES 

I  wonder  what  they  are, 

These  pretty,  wayward  things, 
That  o'er  the  gloomy  earth 

The  wind  of  heaven  flings. 

Each  one  a  tiny  star, 

And  each  a  perfect  gem  ; 

What  magic  in  the  art 

That  thus  has  fashioned  them. 

What  beauty  in  the  flake 
That  falls  upon  my  hand ; 

And  yet  this  liny  thing 
My  will  cannot  command. 

No  two  are  just  alike, 

And  yet  they  are  the  same ; 

I  wonder  if  my  thought 

Could  give  to  each  a  name. 

Unlike  the  fragile  flowers 

That  love  the  sun's  warm  rays, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  141 

These  snow-flakes  love  the  cold, 
And  die  on  sunny  days ! 

So  dainty  and  so  pure, 

How  beautiful  they  are ; 
And  yet  the  slightest  touch 

Their  purity  may  mar. 

They  must  be  gazed  upon, 

Xot  handled  or  caressed  ; 
And  thus  we  hold  afar 

The  things  we  love  the  best. 


SUNSET  OX  THE  MISSISSIPPI. 

0  beautiful  hills  in  the  purple  light, 
That  shadow  the  western  sky, 

1  dream  of  you  oft  in  the  silent  night, 

As  the  golden  days  go  by. 

The  river  that  flows  at  my  longing  feet 

Is  tinged  with  a  deeper  glow ; 
But  the  song  that  it  sings  is  as  sad  to-day 

As  it  was  in  the  long  ago. 

The  far-off  clouds  in  the  far-off  sky 
Are  tinted  with  srold  and  red ; 


1 42  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

But  the  lesson  they  tell  to  the  hearts  of  men 
Is  a  lesson  that  never  is  said. 

The  star-crowned  night  in  her  sable  plumes 

Is  veiling  the  eastern  sky, 
And  she  trails  her  robes  in  the  dying  fires 

That  far  in  the  west  do  lie. 

A  single  gem  from  her  circlet  old 

Is  lost  as  she  wanders  by, 
And  the  beautiful  star  with  its  golden  light 

Shines  out  in  the  lonely  sky. 

O  beautiful  star  in  the  misty  sky, 

My  soul  would  take  wings  with  th.ee ; 
But  you  sail  away  in  your  golden  seas 

With  never  a  thought  for  ine. 

O  sun-crowned  hills  in  the  purple  light. 

I  could  sit  at  your  feet  forever ; 
But  you  fade  away  in  the  shadowy-  night 

And  I'll  see  you  again,  ah,  never. 

Dark  river  that  flows  at  my  longing  feet, 

I  list  to  your  music  low; 
But  the  song  that  you  sing  brings  me  thoughts  to-night 

Of  the  beautiful  long  ago ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  143 

And  my  soul  grows  sad  as  I  think  of  the  day — 

That  radiant  day  of  light — 
When  the  sun  went  down  in  a  glory  of  gold 

'Neath  the  pitiless  shadows  of  night. 

Farewell,  ye  hills  in  the  purple  light ; 

Farewell  to  your  glory  forever  ; 
You  fade  away  in  the  silent  night, 

And  I'll  see  you  again,  ah,  never! 


NOT  DEAD,  BUT  SLEEPING. 

[To  the  memory  of  Edwin  B.  Foster,  a  member  of  the  Howards, 
-who  nobly  sacrified  his  own  life  for  others,  and  in  remembrance  of 
those  unknown  to  fame  or  friends  who  have  silently  followed  in  the 
steps  of  our  Saviour.] 

The  shadow  of  death  is  around  us  all, 

And  life  is  a  sorrowful  thing ; 
For  the  winds  sweep  by  with  a  mournful  sigh, 

And  sad  are  the  tidings  they  bring. 

He  is  dead — and  the  strong,  brave  life  that  he  gave 

Seemed  offered  to  God  in  vain  ; 
Yet  he  died,  Christ-like,  in  a  labor  of  love, 

'Mid  sorrow  and  death  and  pain. 


144  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

And  why  should  we  sorrow — the  crown  is  his 

And  the  glory  of  life  is  won  ; 
Though  he  died  when  hib  labor  was  just  begun, 

Yet  the  work  of  his  life  is  done. 

The  beautiful  South  is  a  land  of  death, 
Where  the  shadows  darken  the  sun  ; 

And  the  moans  of  the  dying  are  heard  in  the  night 
When  the  deeds  of  the  day  are  done. 

The  sunlight  falls  with  a  dreary  gleam 
On  the  cities  where  ruin  is  spread, 

And  the  rain  beats  down  with  a  mournful  sound 
On  the  graves  of  the  silent  dead. 

Yet  high  in  the  heavens  a  Hand  is  stretched, 

That  treasures  the  deeds  of  love  ; 
And  the  lives  gone  out  in  the  darkness  below 

Are  wrapped  in  the  glory  above. 

The  North  bends  down  in  her  icy  pride 

And  kisses  the  land  of  the  sun  ; 
Love  joins  them  both  in  a  flood  of  tears, 

And  the  glory  of  peace  is  won. 

The  hand  that  was  dyed  in  a  brother's  blood 

Now  eases  that  brother's  pain  ; 
And  the  hearts  that  in  life  were  driven  apart, 

In  death  are  united  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  145 

Then  why  should  we  sorrow — our  God  is  love, 

And  lives  are  not  lived  in  vain  ; 
Bright  hope  still  shines  like  a  star  of  night 

In  the  shadow  of  death  and  pain. 


A  SUNBEAM. 

The  sun  was  hid  all  day  by  clouds, 

The  rain  fell  softly  down ; 
A  cold  gray  mist  hung  o'er  the  earth, 

And  veiled  the  silent  town. 

Behind  the  clouds  a  sunbeam  crept 
With  restless  wings  of  gold ; 

'The  skies  above  were  bright  and  warm, 
The  earth  below  was  cold. 

It  glanced  along  the  heavy  clouds, 
Then  sought  to  glide  between ; 

But  ah  !  they  gathered  closer  still, 
With  fierce  and  angry  mien. 

The  dancing  ray  grew  strangely  still, 

Just  like  some  weary  bird, 
That  droops  upon  a  lonely  shore, 

And  sings  its  song  unheard. 


146  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

For  on  the  earth  the  drooping  flowers 

Were  longing  for  the  light ; 
And  children  with  their  watching  eyes 

Could  trace  no  sunbeam's  flight. 

At  last  an  angel,  wand'ring  by, 
With  snowy  wings  outspread, 

Beheld  the  sunbeam  sad  at  heart, 
And  passing  by  she  said: 

"  Why  wait  you  here  above  the  clouds, 

The  earth  has  need  of  you  ; 
Spread  out  your  wings,  speed  quickly  on 
And  pierce  the  vapor  through." 

But  still  the  sunbeam  mournfully 
Gazed  on  the  gloom  below  ; 

Then  looked  up  in  the  spirit's  face 
With  softened,  anxious  glow. 

The  angel  smiled,  the  clouds  gave  way 

And  drifted  far  apart; 
And  lo !  the  glory  of  that  smile 

Fell  on  each  earthly  heart. 

Then  quickly  through  the  widening  rift 
The  sunbeam  drifted  clown  : 

A  ray  of  gold  fell  through  the  mist 
Upon  the  silent  town. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  147 

Two  weary  eyes  beheld  its  light, 

Then  closed  forevermore ; 
A  soul  passed  through  the  rift  of  blue 

And  reached  the  farther  shore. 


One  moment  o'er  the  wan,  white  face 

A  ray  of  glory  fell ; 
Then  shadows  came,  the  sunbeam  fled; 

Its  future  who  can  tell  ? 

Once  more  the  clouds  enwrapped  the  earth, 

The  rain  fell  softly  down  ; 
A  cold,  gray  mist  hung  o'er  the  hills 

And  veiled  the  silent  town. 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  LOVE. 


HE  stood  by  my  side  with  a  queenly  air, 
.1  Her  face  it  was  young  and  proud  and  fair^ 

She  held  my  rose  in  her  hands  of  snow; 

It  crimsoned  her  face  with  a  deeper  glow  ;. 
The  sunlight  drooped  in  her  eyes  of  fire 
And  quickened  my  heart  to  a  wild  desire ; 
I  envied  the  rose  in  her  hands  so  fair, 
I  envied  the  flowers  that  gleamed  in  her  hair. 

Ah  !  many  a  suitor  I  knew  before 

Had  knelt  at  her  feet  in  the  days  of  yore ; 

And  many  a  lover  as  foolish  as  I, 

Had  proudly  boasted  to  win  or  die. 

She  had  scorned  them  all  with  a  careless  grace 

And  a  woman's  scorn  on  her  beautiful  face. 

Yet  now  in  the  summer  I  knelt  at  her  feet, 

And  dreamed  a  dream  that  was  fair  and  sweet. 

The  roses  drooped  in  her  gold-brown  hair, 
And  quivered  and  glowed  in  the  sun-lit  air  ; 
The  jewels  gleamed  on  her  hands  of  snow 
And  dazzled  my  eyes  with  their  fitful  glow. 
A  river  of  gold  ran  low  at  our  feet, 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  LOVE.  149 

And  echoed  the  words  I  cannot  repeat. 

Oh  !  life  was  so  fair  that  I  loved  the  sun ! 

And  love  was  so  sweet  when  the  day  was  done ! 

The  sun  in  her  velvety  eyes  looked  down 
And  deepened  their  glow  to  a  warmer  brown. 
I  loved  this  woman,  this  woman  so  fair, 
With  her  sun-lit  eyes  and  her  gleaming  hair; 
I  drank  in  her  beauty  as  men  drink  wine, — 
It  filled  my  soul  with  a  love  divine. 
The  touch  of  her  hand  was  madness  to  me ; 
Oh,  my  love  was  as  great  as  love  could  be  ! 

I  kissed  the  roses  that  drooped  in  her  hair, 
I  pressed  the  dews  from  her  lips  so  fair; 
I  held  her  hands  in  my  own  once  more  ; 
Oh,  never  was  woman  so  loved  before ! 
And  what  did  we  care  that  the  sun  was  low, 
And  the  hills  were  bright  with  the  sunset  glow  ? 
The  purple  that  glowed  in  the  skies  above, 
Was  the  royal  banner  of  hope  and  love. 

One  perfumed  breath  from  her  lips  so  fair, 
One  sacred  kiss  on  her  sun-lit  hair, 
And  then  we  parted  as  lovers  meet — 
I  gathered  the  roses  that  lay  at  her  feet, 
And  fastened  them  in,  with  a  lover's  prayer. 
Where  she  loved  them  best,  in  her  silken  hair; 


50  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

For  the  things  she  loved  were  as  dear  to  me 
As  the  shining  stars  to  the  watching  sea. 

On  lake  and  river,  the  sun  lay  low 
Where  we  parted  that  night  in  the  summer  glow 
And  the  hanging  clouds  were  steeped  in  red, 
That  rivalled  the  gold  of  her  sun-crowned  head. 
And  I  loved  her  best  as  I  saw  her  last. 
With  the  beautiful  colors  floating  past, 
And  the  soft  warm  light  in  her  velvety  eyes, 
Reflecting  the  glow  of  the  sun-kissed  skies. 
#####* 
I  stood  on  the  shore  when  the  moon  hung  low 
And  shone  on  the  clouds  like  the  sun  on  snow ; 
And  a  midnight  silence  filled  the  air 
As  I  gazed  on  the  river,  calm  and  fair. 
I  stood  alone  where  the  dark  reeds  quiver, 
And  the  lilies  pale  in  the  night-winds  shiver. 
I  dreamed  of  my  love  that  was  fair  as  the  day, 
Oh,  the  beautiful  love  that  would  last  for  aye  ! 

Oh  !  what  is  that — in  the  river  there — 

Is  it  the  gleam  of  the  lilies  tall  and  fair, 

Or  only  the  branch  of  some  fallen  tree, 

By  the  constant  wash  of  the  waves  set  free  ? 

Oh,  see !  how  strange  it  looks  and  how  white. 

How  it  glistens  and  gleams  in  the  shining  light ! 

It  dazzles  my  eyes — Oh,  what  can  it  be  ? 

It  is  nearing  the  shore — it  is  coming  to  me  ! 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  LOVE.  151 

My  God !  that  ray  eyes  could  be  blind  to-night 

To  shut  out  forever  that  dreadful  sight ! 

Oh,  God  !  am  I  mad — or  can  it  be 

That  the  woman  I  loved  is  thus  coming  to  me? 

That  bright  thing  drifting  down  with  the  tide, 

Is  all  that  is  left  of  my  beautiful  bride ! 


Oh,  pitiless  moon  with  your  pale  cold  light, 
Grow  dark  for  one  instant  and  shut  out  that  sight, 
Till  my  eyes,  grown  dim  with  their  tears  unshed 
Shall  look  no  more  on  the  face  of  my  dead. 

The  pale  lilies  circle  around  her  head 

And  whisper  slowly — my  love  is  dead. 

The  dark  weeds  lie  in  her  tangled  hair, 

Where  I  last  saw  the  roses  gleaming  there. 

The  cold  winds  shiver  and  moan  in  the  night 

As  they  sweep  'round  her  brow  in  the  shining  light. 

Oh,  God !  is  it  I  who  am  standing  alone 

Where  the  night-winds  shiver  and  creep  and  moan, 

Filling  my  soul  with  a  grief  so  mad 

That  I  hate  the  things  that  are  living  and  glad  ? 

Fear  not,  my  love,  you  shall  welcome  be. 
For  even  in  death  you  have  come  to  me. 
The  dead  and  the  living  shall  lie  to-night 
'Neath  the  pitiless  waves  of  that  river  bright. 


i52  LOVE  OR  FAME. 

I  grasp  her  robe  as  it  sweeps  me  by — 
We  have  lived  together,  together  we  die  ; 
Her  face  is  so  white — is  it  a  woman  I  see, 
Or  only  a  phantom  drifting  past  me  ? 
Her  hand  is  so  near — it  touches  my  own — 
My  God !  it  is  gone — I  am  standing  alone. 

Oh,  why  did  I  love  when  the  sun  was  high, 

And  the  clouds  lay  piled  in  the  glittering  sky ! 

Oh,  why  did  I  love  when  the  sun  lay  low 

And  the  heavens  were  red  with  the  blood-red  glow ! 

And  why  do  I  live  when  the  purple  light 

Is  faded  forever  from  out  of  my  sight. 

Oh,  beautiful  demon,  that  men  call  love, 

As  fair  as  the  angels  that  smile  above ! 

'T  were  better  that  men  should  never  be  born 

Than  see  thy  face  in  the  dewy  morn. 

'T  were  better  that  women  should  stand  afar, 

And  worship  in  vain  some  cold,  proud  star ; 

Than  drink  in  thy  beauty  with  passionate  breath 

That  brings  to  them  only  sorrow  and  death. 


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Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


^herrick  - 


281U         Love  or  fame, 


PS 

281U 
SU93  1 


lllf 


